The Game Ends (GOT version)
by The Goat of Harrenhal
Summary: The Game of Thrones draws to a brutal conclusion in the dead of winter as dragons young and old, black and red, white and gold, true and false give one last terrible dance. Set well beyond Season 4 and even the books.
1. Riddles

**The game ends**

**Note: this story is set at an undetermined time in the future, possibly halfway through The Winds of Winter if not further. This would be most likely follow up on events that happen during or after season six. I decided to put this in the show category after reading "Dynasty of Wolves" (good story btw) and realized that there is a famine of well written broadly contextual stories in the show section that don't involve Robb, Jon, Jaime or Theon humping each other or just about anything else "with a hole in it". after my posting blitz for this story, I will be posting my other story on here as well. This story does still favor the books be warned (despite a healthy dose of inspiration from the show), and there are heavy spoilers starting at the end of the prologue. If you are wondering about the difference this fic has from it's book section counterpart, I added some scenes and edited the work to help reconcile the endgame plots with the HBO adaptation. It is rated M for GRRM stuff.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The cell was as dark as a Black cell could be. He had counted seven days in this cell which he marked by the food he was served once a day. Soon he would loose track of the time he had spent here. He was supposed to spend the rest of his life in this dark cell, however long that would be. The curse of Kingslaying might come for him soon he supposed, but what did it matter. He had killed his half-brother out of duty for another brother and saved countless lives by ending the rebellion only to endure more hatred from everyone including his blood. Terror was synonomous with his name, after all he had done to end the rebellion, but now, he was inprisoned for treason.

But weren't all Targaryens kinslayers these days? Would Maekar be sitting on Aegon's chair of swords, if he had not killed Baelor Breakspear in a trial by seven because his fool son Aerion had a problem with a hedge knight? Aerion had drunk himself to death in Lys not too long ago in a manner fitting to his sobrieqet "Brightflame."

The door opened. The bulky man with pale blonde hair and a square cut beard, could be none other then his arse of a nephew.

"It has been a week now, will you finally talk?"

"And leave you with no further use for me?" he spoke with his usual bored comtempt, and made sure that the new King would get a good look at the empty eye socket that another half-brother had given him as he turned to face Maekar. "Evidently, I am of still of more use to you than Shiera was."

The King at least had the decency to show the barest look of shame, "I always make good on my threats Uncle."

He would not let Maekar see any of the pain that Shiera's execution had caused him.

"Your threats of kinslaying you mean."

"I seek one of our ancestral blades that belong to me by right, will you just tell me where Darksister is?" Predictably, his nephew had already lost his temper.

His fingers were tented as he pondered his answer, and found himself staring at the quarter dragon on the tabard as he gave it.

_"It is in the place that Kings come and go_

_It is an eye, just one more to match all of mine_

_But a day shall come, when hard falls the snow_

_I know not the time, but I do know the sign_

_a day of dragons young and old, true and false, red and black and white and gold_

_when your blood descendants fight one another like the dances of old._

_a sword, a sister that only I now know_

_will find the hand of a dark sister_

_and when that day comes she shall meet her brother_

_they shall dance for their fathers and even their mothers_

_and stain Seven Kingdoms in fire and blood_

_But Your descendents will go by the way of Tris Mudd_

_But the lords and smallfolk will say they've no lack_

_When they meet at the tomb built by Harren the Black."_

He felt himself grin defiantly as he finished.

"You've wasted enough of time with your socerous nonsense, rot in here your whole life for all I care."

Brynden Bloodraven felt his grin widen after the door was shut and barred, he could already see his vengence coming.

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><p><strong>Davos<strong>

Moat Cailin was cold and damp, though not so much as Skagos. Wild and untamed Rickon Stark, who had not even seen six namedays, was the lord of Winterfell. Stannis had set the gateway to the North as his rally point for a march on the Twins.

Rickon Stark had had spent nearly two years on the island of Skagos, where the local inhabitants had hidden him from all curious eyes, including an expedition that had been sent from the Dreadfort to kill Rickon Stark upon hearing rumors of his existence, and cement the rule of the Boltons. They had outnumbered the force that Davos had brought to Skagos on _the Laughing Merman_ four to one.

Davos and his men had raided the camp for supplies when their own were running low, and in doing so had earned the respect of Lord Magnar and his Skagosi, or Stoneborn as they called themselves in the old tongue.

The stoneborn overwhelmed the Bolton force that had been led by a captain named Steelshank Walton, in a brutal battle with an aftermath still more grisly. A great feast was held on the flesh of the dead Boltons. It was during the feast that he met Shaggydog, a black Direwolf who was about a big as a pony. Shortly after Rickon Stark as well as Osha, his caretaker. The Skagosi would only let them leave, if some of them could accompany him.

He had received a hero's welcome upon entering White Harbor with Wywan Manderly's liege lord, not to mention a feast hosted by Ser Marlon, that was much more tasteful than the one in Skagos.

Davos had entered the camp with Lord Rickon, his Direwolf, Osha, and a small Complement of Manderly guardsman, and a larger complement of Skagosi. The looks that the underfed cannibals gave the fatter Manderlys was enough for Davos to sleep with a lit candle nearby, and a hand on his sword. A loud ragged cheer broke the silence of the morning as the Direwolf of Stark approached the ancient fortress.

The tattered banners of the Umbers, Ryswells, Tallhearts and Mormonts were among the banners he saw as he rode through the camp.

Davos looked at the men who observed his entrance. He saw men of all ages. Old men and green boys. The war had made its presence known; he could see it on their faces. Though they guant, he could not fail to see the determination on their faces. Lean and hungry like wolves.

_At least they're not cannibals_ thought Davos.

He felt a surge of pride wash over him, as he neared the king's pavillion. The Onion Knight had not failed his King.

Ser Richard Horpe greeted Davos as he dismounted from his horse. It felt good to see familiar faces, even those of the Queen's men. He entered the tent, with Rickon in tow. Lord Rickon reluctantly agreed to leave Shaggydog outside with Osha and Ser Richard.

"It seems that you're a hard one to kill Lord Davos." Stannis Baratheon had a face that looked nearly as guant as Northmen levies he had seen in the camp. Davos could have sworn he saw real emotions in Stannis Baratheon's eyes in that moment. Stannis glanced at him briefly before contemplating Lord Rickon. "Is this the new lord of Winterfell?" Stannis asked with slight disappointment in his voice.

"Yes, your grace." Davos said curtly.

"The Northmen keep telling me that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I'm sending him to Winterfell, Lord Reed and Galbart Glover have already offered to escort him there."

"They are to come back south with Lord Eddard's Bastard."

"I don't understand your grace; Jon Snow is sworn to the Night's Watch." The king handed him a message.

_King Stannis_

_I write to you from Last Hearth. My vows to the Night's Watch have ended with my betrayal and apparent death. The chaos that followed claimed the lives of many including Queen Selyse. The red priest returned me from the dead, but sacrificed Shireen Baratheon to do so. I am coming south to Winterfell with an army of free-folk. I will help you restore order to the North._

If Stannis grieved the loss of his wife and daughter, it must have been long before he returned.

The King seemed to be reading his thoughts. "Now, I have no heirs." His voice was stoic. "But I need a man who will put the realm before his own desires, honor and even family."

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><p><strong>Alayne<strong>

The bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish boarded the _Merling King_, the flagship of her father's transport fleet.

She was still Alayne, the pretty baseborn maid now five and ten. Sansa Stark would have to hide for longer than Alayne's father hoped. Queen Cersei had regained power in King's Landing when Petyr was certain that she was finished only to grow weaker by the day.

In the North, Stannis Baratheon took Winterfell from the Boltons and Freys. Afterwards, the entire North had declared for King Stannis. Last she heard, Stannis would be marching on the Twins.

She heard that Arya had married Ramsay Bolton, but Littlefinger had told her that the girl was an imposter that happened to be the same age as Sansa. Word came that her little brother Rickon emerged from hiding in White Harbor. He told her that Rickon was also an imposter but somehow he did not have the same assurance when he said it.

Most recently, sad news came from the Wall of Jon's Snow's murder. Her brother was going to march south and save Arya from Ramsay Bolton. _Poor Jon, you would have done anything for Arya._ At least Jon was avenged when Stannis took Winterfell and extinguished House Bolton.

In the Stormlands, a boy who called himself Aegon VI Targaryen had the full support of Dorne and was marching on the capitol. Daenerys Targaryen, the exiled daughter of the Aerys II himself was preparing to invade Westeros with a great army, three dragons … and the imp.

She remembered how her face must have betrayed her fears when Randa told her about Tyrion's role in the sack of Volantis. It was nearly as horrifying as the glance Randa gave. _She knows who I am, how did she figure it out?_

Alayne wondered if Sansa would ever be widowed. The lords of the Vale would object to her marrying Harold Hardyng as long as her dwarf husband lived and Petyr knew it, especially when her husband was leading an army with dragons.

Tyrion just refused to die. Despite being the ugliest man she knew and a subject of ridicule, she had never seen someone more determined to live. Littlefinger did not act concerned when she mentioned her husband's favor with the Targaryen queen, but she could see annoyance flickering in his green gray eyes.

The port of Gulltown was very busy today; tomorrow the armies of the Vale would set sail for Maidenpool and from there, they would march to Harrenhal. The Bloody Gate was often closed in times of winter making Gulltown the best way to leave the Vale. She looked over the railing and took a moment to ponder the port lighthouse, which could easily be seen in today's tranquil skies.

As Queen Cersei's hold on King's Landing slipped, Baelish wrote to the queen telling her that her supporters could be rallied at Harrenhal.

At Harrenhal, They would meet Queen Cersei and her few remaining supporters from King's Landing and the Crownlands. A combined force of Lannisters and Freys would soon be joining her under the command of Devan Lannister, the new lord of Casterly Rock, following his marriage to a Frey at Riverrun. The thought of Lannisters and Freys in her mother's home made her bitter. Baelish told her not to expect many Tyrells to come. Sansa did not understand how the queen could trust Littlefinger, but not the Tyrells.

When Alayne asked Petyr about his true intentions he had told her that he intended to claim Kingship of Westeros at Harrenhal. The lords of the Vale and a few in the Riverlands were in his pocket and ready for war. He planned to take the Riverlands and the Westerlands and possibly the Reach before Stannis, Aegon or her husband snatched the pieces of Cersei's doomed rule. Littlefinger would have to move fast.

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><p><strong>Jon Snow<strong>

The march down the Kingsroad was slow and difficult. Of the nearly five thousand wildlings that had joined him to march south, four thousand remained.

Jon Snow was back in Winterfell. As warm as it was during the winter, Winterfell held countless ghosts for Jon. Winterfell itself was a ghost despite the fact that much of the damage from the sack of Winterfell had been repaired. He walked across the yard where he practiced everyday fighting with Robb, to enter the great keep. Jon felt another pang of sadness as he glanced at the rebuilt bridge from the armory where Arya would watch him whenever he sparred with his brother.

The free folk were delighted to stay in a real southron castle almost as much as they were delighted to eat from the generous stores of food left behind by the Manderlys.

He had sent a raven to Moat Cailin where King Stannis was camped from Last Hearth, informing his grace of his apparent death and rebirth as Azor Ahai as well as his new intentions. He wondered how Stannis would react to the news. That was one thing Jon did not tell Stannis. _When the red star bleeds and darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born amidst smoke and salt._ First, the red woman had told him that Arya was coming to Castle Black and now he was the Lord of Light's chosen, due to some powerful king's blood. Jon wondered who his mother truly was and not for the first time. As far as he knew, there were no Targaryen or even Baratheon women within his father's reach. _And she says that I know nothing._ Still, Melisandre had not been completely wrong. She had been right about the attempt on his life, and did see a girl on a dying horse.

The chaos that ensued following his betrayal had resulted in the deaths of many free-folk as well as his former brothers. His resurrection had stopped further bloodshed, but had not prevented the death of Queen Selyse or Princess Shireen, whose fleeting life Melisandre used as a sacrifice to bring him back to life. In the aftermath, of the confusion Melisandre had informed him that his vows to the Night's Watch ended with his death. Jon wanted to argue, and the free-folk would have slaughtered his murderers, but it would only weaken the Night's Watch and he still intended to rescue Arya from Ramsay Snow.

Not long before he reached Last Hearth, He met Ser Justin Massey who claimed he was bringing his little sister to safety. Instead of Arya, however it was Jeyne Poole, one of Sansa's childhood friends.

He had heard from Jeyne that Arya had evaded her captors and disappeared. Jon found himself grateful that Arya did not have to endure such a man. He hoped she was alive and free wherever she was.

He wondered where Sansa was. The last he heard, she was wanted for the death of King Joffrey. It seemed strange to him, he last remembered that she was very much smitten with that girly blond haired little shit. He had also heard that she had disappeared leaving her husband to face the wrath of his own family.

He remembered Tyrion Lannister, the little man who went north with him to Castle Black. He could never have imagined that he would one day marry one of his siblings. _Better him than Ramsay Snow._ The imp had apparently cheated death and was rumored to have slain both his nephew and his father. Somehow, he was not very surprised. Especially in the face of every strange tiding he had recently received.

"My Lord," the Magnar of Thenn turned to face to face him. Sigorn Thenn had joined his strength with Jon's at Last Hearth. Stannis was already preparing to strike south for the Twins. "Stannis expects you as well as me to join his army he wants you to take command of the Karstark men." Jon was relieved when he learned of Arnof Karstark's execution for treason following the Baratheon victory at Winterfell.

Stannis wanted Jon to join his army to the king's before marching on the Twins. He would also need to understand the situation at the wall.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. King Stannis sent a raven shortly after his arrival concerning Rickon. His youngest brother was alive, he was not sure if it was Rickon until the letter mentioned his brother's direwolf Shaggydog. _I should be seeing him any day now _Jon mused. Rickon would be six years old now. The letter explained that Theon Greyjoy had not killed Bran or Rickon in the sack of Winterfell. Still Jon felt that Theon deserved his fate all the same. Rickon had been hiding on the island of Skagos for the last two years, no mention was made of Bran besides his apparent survival and disappearance, but Jon had a faint idea of what became of him.

That night, Jon dreamt that he was praying in the godswood of Winterfell. A woman approached him furtively. Her figure was slim, her features were mostly concealed. His heart raced as she came closer, "Ayra?" The girl certainly reminded him of Arya, even more so than any girl he had met claiming to be her.

"She's not here, Jon." He saw her steel gray eyes, _Stark eyes_; her long face and her brown hair made her look even more like a Stark than any of his siblings.

"Where is she?" Jon asked.

"Far away," the girl spoke sadly.

"Who are you," he had seen her face before, but he could not remember where.

The girl, who appeared to be his age, began to cry.

"You never knew me, no more than you knew your father. He wanted a son who would be a great king."

"Robb was a King." Jon felt solemn at the mention of Robb.

She turned to leave, clearly not wanting to him to see her tears as she faded into shadow.

**Up next: Cersei, Tyrion, and Arya**

**BTW: Let me know in the reviews, how you think the game will end (don't hesitate to go into detail.) Also, can any one solve the riddle?**

**Just so it is known...underlined characters are so far book only(uncast).**

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><p><strong>Pre-story Obituaries (Those who have fallen):<strong>

Theon Greyjoy, Victarion Greyjoy, Jorah Mormont, Roose Bolton, Ramsay Bolton, Lancel Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon, Balon Swann, Aurane Waters, Paxter Redwyne, Lem Lemoncloak, Shireen Baratheon, Selyse Florent, Hosteen Frey, Aenys Frey, Arnoff Karstark, Kevan Lannister, Pycelle.

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><p><strong>Characters that have been featured in the story (up to ch 19) ...<strong>

Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Jon Connington, Aegon "Targaryen", Samwell Tarly, Randyll Tarly, Varys, Arianne Martell, Asha (Yara) Greyjoy, Aeron "Damphair" Greyjoy, Rodrick Harlaw, Davos Seaworth, Stannis Baratheon, Sigorn Thenn, Lawrence Snow, Devan Seaworth, Godry Farring, Duncan Liddle, Tormund Giantsbane, Qarl the Maid, Tristifer "the friendzoned" Botley, Petyr Baelish, Robert Arryn, Lothor Brune, Bennard Brune, Myranda Royce, Lanna "Hill", Robert "Strong", Harrold "the heir" Hardying, Ser Shadrich, Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne, Hyle Hunt, Meryn "fucking" Trant, Margaery Tyrell, Garlan Tyrell, Daven Lannister, Genna Lannister, Lyle Crakehall, Ilyn Payne, Emmon Frey, Alyx Frey, Edwyn Frey, "Black" Walder Frey, Melisandre, Bowen Marsh, Alliser Thorne, Tysha (Lannister), Barristan Selmy, Tumco Lho, Bronn (Stokeworth), Alleras, "Pate", Lazy Leo, Mollander, Urswych the Faithful, Edric Dayne, Howland Reed, Galbart Glover, Osha, Jon "the Greatjon" Umber, Edmure Tully, Lady Stoneheart, Tom o Sevens, Jack be Lucky, Anguy, Lewys Piper, Marq Piper, Clement Piper, Tytos Blackwood, Hoster Blackwood, Gendry, Sandor Clegane, Mace Tyrell. Bryden "Bloodraven" Rivers, Maekar Targaryen

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><p><strong>There are so many characters that need to be featured in this story. If you are chomping at the bit to see a character not on the featured list, or if I left out somebody in any of the lists, please let me know via review or PM.<strong>


	2. Smoke and Fire

**Flashback**

Near the other end of this rickety bridge over the Skahazadan, stood a man whom all the Ironborn clearly gave great deference to.

"Name yourself," A more brutish than he was who wore a kracken on his helm. A great hellhorn poked up from behind his back. _And there it is, _Jorah thought_, the source of this all._

"Ser Jorah Mormont, and who would you be lord Squid?"

"Victarion Greyjoy, lord of the Iron Fleet, and your death!" The big man in plate threw back.

Greyjoy charged at him with a longaxe. Jorah answered with his shield which somehow stopped the blow but still took damage.

And so they danced the dance of their people, the Bear and the Kracken.

Jorah quickly thrust his blade at the lobstered steel of Victarion Greyjoy's gauntlet.

His opponent simply caught the blade which was now inside his gauntlet and seized it casting away both his sword and bloody gauntlet which landed into the river.

"My sword," He heard himself say in horror.

"Go and get it!" Greyjoy bellowed as his bared right arm shot up and wraped itself around Jorah's neck. It was an ugly thing, covered in blood and black as soot and it felt like fire.

Jorah felt his dagger in his hand that was shealthed to his waist and struck the squid lord in his demon arm, which earned a deep bellow of pain his Greyjoy staggered back and released his grip on Jorah's neck.

He fell and the bridge seemed to shudder on impact. It moved only slightly as he tried to rise as longax charged once again.

The ax struck clean through the greaves on his left leg as he got up and he felt himself collapse unable to support the weight of his mismatched company steel any more.

He was turned over his Ironborn opponent, who lowered his ax and positioned it for a killing blow. Just before Victarion could lift the ax and strike, Jorah hooked his arms around the ax. The ironman did not try to wrest the ax from his from his grip, but simply lifted him into the air. Jorah released his left arm and seized the hellhorn by the mouthpiece. He blew into the horn with all his remaining strength as he was cast back to the bridge.

The horn was fire, but it was also death. Not that it mattered to him anymore. For a barest second he could feel power coursing through his veins, before feeling fire in his lungs.

Jorah felt his dying self being rolled over by Victarion Greyjoy's plated boots. He would live long enough to drown, he knew, but he would never see his silver queen again.

Nonetheless, he felt one final glimmer of satisfaction as he felt the air go from arid to scorching.

I will drown Ironborn, but you will burn.

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><p><strong>Tyrion <strong>

The fog was thick over Dragonstone this morning.

It felt fulfilling to be back in Westeros. It least with an army at his back. For the first time in nearly two decades, the banner of the three-headed dragon flew over Dragonstone. Tyrion had risen high indeed, in the last year. He had gone from being a fugitive to a slave to a respected if not trusted advisor of Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

"Could you send a raven to Kings Landing?" Archmaester Marwyn accepted the message that Tyrion offered in his hand.

"Would the queen like that?"

He shrugged "depends on the queen I suppose, I just want my sweet sister to know that i'm coming home."

The square faced maester allowed a smirk, "I will send this at once Lord Hand."

Tyrion was down looking at the painted table. He sat in the same seat from which Aegon the Conqueror planned his invasion of Westeros three centuries past and from which Stannis Baratheon brooded over the same table three years ago.

Much had changed since he fled Westeros. He looked at the map. Stannis Baratheon had lost Storm's End and Dragonstone, but won the North. On the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy sat the Seastone Chair and had taken the shield Islands, the Arbor, and was besieging Oldtown. Aegon and the Golden Company had taken the Stormlands and aligned with Dorne. Cersei had fled King's Landing with Tommen for the protection of Harrenhal and Littlefinger who held the Vale and much of the Riverlands. Had Cersei lost her mind? His sister trusting Littlefinger surprised even him, for she knew how treacherous he was.

From what he had heard from the sailors in Volantis, his sister had run the Seven Kingdoms into the ground in ways he had not thought possible. Tyrion could not imagine what possesed Cersei to restore the Faith Militant, did she really think that faith would fight for a queen such as Cersei. The Faith Militant could barely tolerate the Targaryens who had dragons to back their legitimacy as kings and queens.

Tyrion found it ironic that Cersei had been imprisoned by the very organization she allowed to rearm for crimes of incest, fornication, high treason, and deicide. Cersei was without a doubt guilty of every charge they could name. But why would she kill the High Septon, the man he appointed was deep in the Lannister pockets.

Tyrion offered a cask of wine for every Westerori sailor had could find in Volantis. All he asked in return was that they spread the word of his impending return from exile. He wanted Westeros to know that he was coming back to exact revenge on all those who dared sneer at him.

Shortly before leaving Volantis to invade Westeros, he learned that Osmund Kettleback confessed to fucking Cersei and killing the High Septon. He could not help but imagine how Jaime was taking this. _She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably even moonboy for all I know_. Tyrion wondered how much of that statement his brother believed now.

Cersei confessed only to the crime of fornication, the one charge that would not put her under Ser Ilyn's blade. As punishment she was shorn of her beautiful golden hair and marched naked to the Red Keep under the mocking eyes of the smallfolk who called her names and threw dung at her. He almost wished he was in King's Landing to see Cersei's walk of shame. Was Jaime there to see it? He could almost see the disappointment in Jaime's eyes in knowing that Cersei was doubtlessly unfaithful.

Cersei cheated justice with a trial by combat. Her champion, a new knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Robert Strong killed his cousin Lancel who fought to bring justice to Cersei. Strong … as in the Strongs of Harrenhal, that family died out long ago. Only yesterday, he learned that faith had declared Ser Robert Strong an abomintion born of necromancy. Tyrion wondered just how much his sister had changed.

The Tyrells were left holding King's Landing after Cersei fled. Cersei would at least have the sense to take Margaery Tyrell with her as a hostage to ensure that her family would not declare for a Targaryen. Still, Tyrion wondered if they would even put up a fight. Mace Tyrell must be terrified right now to be the last surviving judge in my mummer's farce of a trial thought Tyrion.

He was not entirely as bitter now as he was leaving Westeros; it felt good to be back in a position of power. Though Daenerys did not like him, she valued his council and understood the importance of rewarding competent supporters. No queen would ever love him; he had long since accepted that fact.

Looking out of the Stone Dragon Tower, to the harbor of Dragonstone, he could see the fleet returning from Pentos with reinforcements and food stores that would surely buy the loyalty of the smallfolk. Soon the dragons would descend on King's Landing.

The silver queen entered the room. It was a shame that she disliked him; he really would have enjoyed a night with her. It still felt ironic that he rescued a sellsword who actually had a night with her. The Mother of Dragons was grateful for that, at least . Behind her were Ser Barristan Selmy and Wulfe one-ear, the acting master of ships and Victarion Greyjoy's former right hand man. Following her return to Mereen near the end of the siege, Victarion Greyjoy had attempted to take Daenerys as a salt wife only to be bathed in dragonfire by Drogon. The surviving Ironborn wisely chose to back the dragon queen.

The dragonhorn that Victarion belived would give him victory was of no use to Greyjoy after he died. His death had freed both Rhaegal and Viserion from the very bondage that had destroyed the Volanteen navy and the Yunkish army. Jorah Mormont, had given his life in killing Victarion Greyjoy, in the greatest duel since Tyrion's own trial by combat.

Qarth and New Ghis wisely sued for peace, but Volantis refused to bend the knee. Moqorro had seen a slave revolt in the flames, and sure enough Tyrion entered Volantis ahead of Daenerys with a small army of freedman plus the second sons, the Windblown, and the Stormcrows who travelled to Volantis with the remains of the Iron Fleet. They landed only to meet no resistance outside of the black wall.

Three days later the true heir of Valyria and Westeros entered the heart of Volantis with her fabled unsullied to find ruin. Many proud families of the old blood that ruled Volantis for generations were extinguished root and stem like the Reynes and Tarbecks years before. He would not allow his queen to repeat her mistakes in Mereen. She still thought it was harsh, but the results spoke for themselves, and the plunder taken financed her return from exile with a large army of freed slaves.

Tyrion wondered if someone had made a song about it yet. _Are you proud of me now father_, _can you see me from whatever hell the father above sent you._ _Of all your children, I am the most like you. _ There were days that he wished his father was still alive to see this.

Unlike father however, Tyrion had never ordered the death of anyone under the age of twelve namedays. Many orphans of Noble Valyrian birth where fostered by the queen's most dedicated supporters. One such orphan, Belicho Maegyr, one of late Triarch Maegyr's numerous grandsons became Tyrion's new squire. Strange it was, the boy was once brother in law to Robb Stark. His pregnant wife had been murdered at the Twin's with her husband, and now here he was being a father figure to a boy whose had lost much his family to not only the Lannister name, but Tyrion himself. It was curious thing raising a boy after you killed his father.

"Lord Hand, we sail for King's Landing Tomorrow," Wulfe one-ear said tersely. Tyrion knew that the Ironborn hated taking orders from a dwarf, but he didn't care. Unlike King's Landing, everybody knew better than to cross him.

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><p><strong>Cersei<strong>

Castle Rosby had nearly 1,500 men waiting for her, a thousand from Duskendale and five hundred from Rosby itself. There were not very many houses in the Crownlands that she could rely on. Certainly not the Stokeworths.

Cersei now had a total of 1,800 men to fight for Tommen. Lord Baelish had promised to bring 20,000 men to Harrenhal from the Vale. And Lord Daven commanded an army of 15,000 from the Westerlands and Riverlands.

To her knowledge the Tyrells had 40,000 men to face an estimated strength of 25,000 from Aegon the Pretender. Following her departure, many would have no doubt marched south to relieve Oldtown from the Ironborn.

As much as she hated to leave King's Landing and the Red Keep, she also felt relieved. In the dead of night, Cersei fled the Red Keep with Tommen and her best retainers. He would be safe from that Targaryen pretender, the faith, the Tyrells _and Tyrion_. She remembered the raven she received shortly before leaving.

_Sweet Sister_

_You are not father. You may have cheated justice, but your days are numbered. I serve a new queen younger and even more beautiful than you. She does not betray her faithful supporters, unlike you sweet Cersei. You could not even remain faithful to Jaime. You and father both have taken all I held dear. Soon I will repay the favor in full measure._

Cersei remembered the signature which was signed in Tyrion's unmistakle small but neat handwriting.

_Tyrion Lannister_

_Lord of Casterly Rock and Winterfell, Warden of the West and hand of the one true queen of Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen the mother of dragons._

It rankled Cersei to no end when she finally realized where Tyrion was. Her little brother had escaped death once more only to come back with Rhaegar Targaryen's little sister. When Qyburn informed her of the talk on the docks, that Tyrion was heading west, she could almost see Tyrion's mismatched eyes shining with malice. At first, Cersei thought it was a ruse to fool her into thinking that he left King's Landing.

Since the word got out, she saw fewer and fewer people claiming to have her brother's head.

With the exception of Margaery, whom Cersei practically kidnapped as a hostage, Cersei had left the Tyrells to hold King's Landing. They could keep the Iron Throne warm for the new Targaryen queen and her valonqar. The Iron Throne was still intact but the throne room was greatly damaged. Cersei had ordered the Alchemists to destroy the throne room and they had only been successful in partially collapsing the roof. Cersei felt a bitter smile on her face when she thought about who would sit the Iron Throne next. Let them feel the hollow victory, she would win this war for good and retake the throne for Tommen.

Tommen was her only remaining child. Myrcella had been wounded in Dorne; she had lost an ear, to a catspaw of Tyrion. The wound had festered and Myrcella had died of an infection _or poison_. And now everybody was out to get her last boy.

"Your grace, we are ready." Ser Meryn gestured towards the gate. She mounted a blood bay, and followed her kingsguard to join the army that was already on the move.

She had to go without the comforts of the royal wheelhouse; it was difficult enough to travel in the summer with it. Cersei could not afford to lose time on the road to Harrenhal with half a foot of snow. A day on horseback was not as comfortable as the wheelhouse, but at least she felt like a proud queen leading an army.

She saw Ser Robert Strong on foot marching with the vanguard as he was too big to ride a horse. He always wore his suit of plate. She had never seen him outside of his armor, nobody had. The rest of the Kingsguard shunned Ser Robert as did everybody else. The men, who marched behind him in fact, seemed to do so out of fear above anything else.

There was talk Cersei knew, that she had resorted to sorcery to hold on to the throne. Even if it were true, what proof did the faith have? The high septon declared Ser Robert Strong an abomintion born of necromancy, but only after she left the capital. The High Sparrow was a truly dauntless man who feared nothing, but tensions between the Faith and the Iron Throne were dangerously high. She wondered how they would treat the Tyrells.

Cersei was not worried about the faith; King's Landing would be sacked multiple times by the end of the war and sooner or later that sparrow would have his ugly head on a pike.

* * *

><p><strong>Arya<strong>

The ship had taken Arya to Dragonstone. The Targaryen Queen was set to invade Westeros soon. She had heard that they were only waiting for the ships to return from Pentos before moving on King's Landing itself.

Considering the nature of the dragon queen's armies, few would ask questions about an orphaned girl of twelve as they took all kinds of people. From Dothraki to Ironmen, it seemed that she could always find someone from anywhere in the world.

Queen Cersei, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, Dunsen. Her list was growing smaller. Soon at least one of them would be burned alive by the dragons she hoped.

Her killing of Raff the Sweetling had not gone unnoticed by the kindly man or Izembaro for that matter. Arya was promptly discharged from the Faceless men. At least she got her face back, thought Arya. It felt surprisingly good to have her identity back.

If there was one thing that she had learned above all else in Braavos, it was that she was Arya Stark, and no matter what name she answered to or what face she wore, she would always be Arya.

They had also given her free passage out of Braavos for the city of Pentos. From Pentos, she joined the cause of the Queen Daenerys under the name Jeyne Rivers. She had long since learned the benefits of hiding in plain sight, and could easily pass for a bastard of the North.

The harbor town was teeming with activity; they would leave on the morrow for King's Landing. She could hear one of the Dothraki complaining about spending more time on the poison water. Stupid Dothraki thought Arya; they seemed to think that life revolved around horses.

That night she had another wolf-dream. As always, she tasted the blood of the horse, as Nymeria bit into the horse's flank throwing the rider in a grey surcoat from his horse. Arya felt satisfaction as she noticed the twin towers of Frey on the man's surcoat. She felt her wolf howl in delight. Although most of her family was dead, she could tell from Nymeria that Bran, Rickon and Jon were still out there somewhere.

**Up next: Jon Snow, Dany, and Samwell**


	3. The Kings Of Winter

**Flashback**

The dreams and the nightmares were too much for him this night. It felt harder than usual, It would be his last night alone in the Marriage bed of Winterfell, he believed. Sometime tomorrow, his wife that he barely knew would see her new home for the first time.

It was a moment he both dreaded and awaited eagerly.

Tomorrow, he would meet his son for the first time, and she would meet the boy.

He would have seen him earlier if Winterfell had not needed a Stark already. The family that he had grown up with no longer lived within these walls. The pack was gone, and the lone wolf would die alone if he did not find his pack, or raise his own.

He left the Great Keep as silent as the night, and walked towards the Godswood.

The heart Tree stood vigilant over the godswood as it had since the beginning of time.

He took a knee before the carved face on the tree.

"Let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them." He took a deep breath "And let my lady wife, find it in her heart to forgive"

A bonechilling cold suddenly entered the godswood but was gone as soon as it came.

"Let him grow strong with the absense of his mother who lies with the Kings of Winter."

* * *

><p><strong>Daenerys<strong>

It was winter for Westeros, but for her It could have been spring. Today she was going to retake King's Landing, the city of her ancestors.

The Red Keep that Viserys had told her so much about was getting bigger and bigger. By the standards of palaces in Essos, it was rather modest, but there was no denying the its imposing visage over the land.

As the ships approached the city she could smell the city. It was not a pleasant smell, but it was much more tolerable then Mereen.

"Is it what you expected your grace?" Ser Barristan had told her much about this city and the home of her ancestors.

"Not quite," she replied.

Dany could see the banners hanging from the Red Keep, The gold rose on green of House Tyrell. The Tyrells were loyal supporters of her father, but Tyrion told her that they would be loath to part with the Iron Throne and reluctant to support her cause if Lord Tyrell's only daughter was a hostage. On the other hand she held Ser Loras Tyrell, Mace Tyrell's third son in captivity on Dragonstone.

Would they fight to keep her from her birthright?

She climbed down the rope lader to the boat that would bring her ashore, along with Ser Barristan, Grey Worm and Tyrion as well as Moqorro.

Nearly two dozen boats followed her to the beach by the Iron Gate. The peace banner was unfurled and Dany called for a Parley.

The boats that brought her party ashore shuttled more men between her fleet and the beach three more times, before Lord Tyrell himself attended the parley.

Mace Tyrell was everything she had been told expect and more. Fat, overly ambitious and exeptionally vain, if the excessive amount Tyrell banners were any indication.

"You speak to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, and hand of King Tommen." He clearly loved the sound of his own voice.

Tyrion spoke up, "and you to speak to Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, the rightful queen of Westeros, the Breaker of chains, and the mother of dragons."

Mace Tyrell paled when he noticed him. Tyrion gave a smile that was every bit as ugly he was. Dany did not like Tyrion, but she could not deny his value as a supporter of her cause.

"And doubtless you recall me, the giant of Lannister, Ser Loras most certainly did." Tyrion continued taking special delight in the discomfort of the Reach lords.

Before the Lord of Highgarden could respond, Dany spoke up. "Hear my terms, Lord Tyrell. You will yield King's Landing and the Iron Throne, or I will take them both with fire and blood."

Mace Tyrell was reluctant and looked back at his bannermen who were present to add political weight. It was clear from thier looks that they were hesitant to back up their liege lord. In the end he bent the knee and forsook his hopes and ambitions for a Tyrell on the Iron Throne in the same way that he swore fealty to the usurper without so much as a fight.

The Iron Gate was opened. She entered the city with those who had already landed. She had finally Taken King's Landing, without a single drop of blood. Dany could feel the eyes of the curious smallfolk as her army made its way to the Red Keep.

At long last she entered the throne room. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold, she had seen this place before, in the House of the Undying, it was exactly as she remembered.

The Roof had partially collapsed in some places. The cold winter winds ensured that several inches of snow coated the room. She felt faint when she recalled the vison from the house of the undying, this time though she did not hear the cries of young dragons nor did she see a great door beyond the throne that could only be lifted by heavy chains.

She gripped the pommel on one of the many blades melted into the throne, as if to snap out of a dream.

Ser Barristan held out a blanket which she used to brush the snow off from Aegon's great monstrosity of a chair before using the blanket to cushion her from the cold metal. Even so, Dany was chilled to the bone.

She held the Iron Throne, but why did this feel like a hollow victory.

* * *

><p><strong>Samwell<strong>

Winter had come, but there was no snow to be found in Oldtown. For that, Samwell was grateful. To date, Samwell managed to forge five links of his maester's chain.

Little more than a year had passed since he began forging his chain at the Citadel. For months now, Oldtown had been under pressure from the Ironmen. First, they had taken the Arbor from the Redwynes, then they destroyed Paxter Redwyne's fleet on the straights named for his family. Brightwater Keep on the Honeywine fell next as the forces occupying the shield islands moved inland. Thankfully Gilly was safe at Horn Hill, which had so far resisted all Ironborn incursions. Samwell still wondered how his father reacted to the idea of him having a bastard.

Now, the Greyjoys had three separate forces beseiging Oldtown, two by land on both sides of the Honeywine, and one by sea blockading the city over the whispering Sound. The city had been completely cut off from the world for nearly a fortnight. So far the City Watch of Oldtown had repulsed three assualts at a high cost.

Now, the bulk of Euron Greyjoy's forces were here, and this time, Oldtown would be hit from all sides.

Samwell looked south towards the Hightower from a window in the the black tower which was flashing a warning beacon. He picked up a Myrish eye to get a closer look.

Out of the fog, he saw a line of longships approaching. In the center of the formation was a ship with a red hull and an iron prow, _Silence_ they called it. Samwell could almost feel his bowels turn to water.

Much to Samwell's surprise, they did not stop to land on the Hightower, but kept going up the river. _They're coming for the Citadel._ The Citadel had something Euron Crow's Eye wanted and Samwell had a suspicion that he knew what it was. The order of the Maester's for all of emphasis on secular knowledge had a surprising wealth of the arcane.

"Mother. Have. Mercy." Samwell could hear himself mutter nervously under his breath.

He left his spot in the tower and descened to the castle yard on the Isle of Ravens.

"Slayer you're back," drawled Alleras. Mollander tossed him a bow, which he caught barely.

"He's here. He wants something." Samwell said in a low voice, they all knew who he was taking about. He looked for a filled quiver which he found near a slit in the wall.

Sam was already wearing a thick leather jerkin and settled for a cap of boiled leather, that he found on a nearby table. He also wore a dagger on his belt.

"To the library," one of Marwyn's pupils shouted. He could see a dozen nods in agreement. Leo Tyrell wore a shirt of mail and a half-helm as he came into view. "Slayer, Sphinx, and Mollander come with me."Leo looked around for a moment, "You too Pate, get your arse over here." The pig boy cautiously moved towards them.

The five of them rushed across the old drawbridge and then slowed when they were out of ironborn sight. Aside from Alleras none of his comrades were particularly fast as they moved though the labyrinth that was the Citadel. They could hear the drums of the Ironmen grow progressively louder as time went on.

As they were travelling down one wynd, Alleras motioned for them to hide. Six Ironmen were advancing towards them, though they had yet to see the acolytes. Sam could feel fear welling up inside him, _the last time someone was out to get me I was north of the wall_. Before any of them could see the students, something that looked like a cask of ale came from a second floor window and burst into flames upon kissing the cobblestones. The screams of the burning enemies made him sick as Alleras lept out of hiding and felled a survivor with her Goldenheart bow.

They passed the carnage after the flames burned out. Samwell stopped to retch upon smelling the burned flesh.

Another bridge came into view, this time the Ironmen were barely downstream. Once again they crossed the bridge but this time, a few wild arrows passed them in greeting.

Mollander stopped to rest his bad foot. At that moment Sam realized where they were. The library was only a turn to the right from here.

A savage war cry pierced the air as a longship docked near the bridge they just passed.

Two armed men in maester's robes passed them by "regroup at the library" they said for all to listen.

The four acolytes followed suit. At the library, they saw a rag tag assortment of maesters, students, and members of the city watch. The library was a large stately building whose entance was guarded by Griffins much like the stayues at the main Citadel Entrance.

They fought off the ironborn for what seemed to be lifetime but could have been no more than half an hour.

Finally, a ram came to the main door and began to batter it down, and in six ominous swings, the door was broken down.

_You killed an other, what is a mortal man. _ Sam drew his bow and fired from his cover near a shelf, he felt surprise as the arrow struck true and hit a man in his thigh.

He nocked another arrow, and fired on a man whose surcoat featured a bone hand on red. The arrow missed, but he went down before Samwell could draw his bow again.

He dropped his bow and drew his dagger. A reaver was coming for him. The man slashed down at him with his longaxe, but Samwell managed to back away in time taking only a graze on the knee.

Suddenly he found himself cornered and in panic he threw himself at the reaver putting his dagger past the man's boiled leather and into his chest before he bring the axe back over Sam's head.

His assailant let out a blood curdling scream and Sam felt faint as he looked down at his hands that were warm with another man's blood.

Sam found himself over a window seat retching once more, when a distant arrow took him in the shoulder. Compared to seeing blood, Samwell Tarly felt strangely calm at the notion that he just been shot.

Soon, he collapsed on the window seat delirious with pain and blood loss. His vision began to blur as heard the thunder of hoofbeats he saw the many banners they carried, but he could not completely make them out.

"A Griffin, a Griffin," was the last the last thing he heard as the passed out from the pain.

* * *

><p><strong>The Stark in Winterfell<strong>

A small party entered Winterfell through the East gate. At it's head was Rickon Stark, it had been nearly four long years since he last saw Rickon. Even without his Direwolf, There was no mistaking his identity. His long flowing auburn hair reminded Jon of Robb, but now he was almost as old as Bran was when he left for the wall. He saw a man wearing the white gauntlet on red of House Glover, in the forefront, and a handfull of his retainers. Jon noticed a woman in the party that reminded him very much of a spearwife. One of the men helped Rickon from his horse.

"Jon?" He wondered if Rickon took him for father. In that moment Jon was no longer the exiled lord commander of the Night's Watch, In fact he was no longer a man grown. Rickon was just a lost boy who had found a remainder of his family. Jon bent down to embrace little Rickon as he came running to Jon. It was a tearful reunion for Rickon, and even more so for Jon to have a reunion with a brother he thought long dead.

He ordered a pair of Manderly guardsmen who had been left in Winterfell by Stannis to lead Lord Rickon to his new chambers.

Only now did Jon notice a man who had been in the back of the crowd hidden from view as the party began to disperse. "My Lord," he called out. He was a slight man who wore a long hooded cloak that concealed most of its features. "I am Howland Reed, lord of Greywater Watch." He walked closer to Jon, "We need talk in private, I would suggest the crypts."

Howland Reed Jon remembered, was one of father's best fighters during Robert's Rebellion. Lord Eddard had not seen Lord Reed since the rebellion he knew. They exchanged no words as they made their way to the crypts of Winterfell.

At long last, they entered the crypts; this was the one place in Winterfell that Jon had not yet visited upon his return. He had nearly every night since returning to Winterfell, any most of them seemed to come here. Jon did not deign to refuse Lord Howland's request, he could tell from the way the Crannogman walked that there was a reason it had to be the crypts.

As he descended into the crypts of his forefathers, he could feel every nightmare he had about this place return. He could see the statues of past lords of Winterfell, _You don't belong here _they seemed to whisper. He felt a pang of sadness as he saw the stern face of Lord Eddard Stark. He saw the grave meant for Robb. So far no statue had been made for Robb whose grave was empty.

Howland Reed made an abrupt stop at the grave of Lyanna Stark, the only woman to be buried in the crypts. Jon had a bad feeling about this, but could not grasp what Howand Reed was thinking.

"It's time we talked about your mother, and for that matter, your father." Lord Reed finally spoke.

"You know who she was?" Jon blurted.

"Yes, I was there when you were born."

"Is she still alive?" Deep down Jon knew the answer; it was bad omen that they were discussing this in the crypts.

"No, she died giving birth to you. Lord Stark took you as an orphan."

"But Lord Eddard was my father." Jon was confused.

"You know nothing Jon Snow, Lord Eddard was your uncle." Jon was at a loss for breath. Lord Reed gestured towards to grave of Lyanna Stark. "She was your mother."

Howland was holding a metal bar for which he used to pry open Lyanna Stark's tomb. Within were the skeletal remains of the mother he never knew. But there was something else in there, a bundled cloak, that was quite tattered.

The direwolf of Stark was emblazoned on the cloak, though it was no longer easy to recognize. Jon could not explain what possessed him to pick up the bundle, but before he knew it, he was unwrapping the cloak. This was no ordinary cloak, Jon noticed, but a maiden's cloak. Inside, he found a harp. The harp was a small thing made of weirwood, with a carving of three dragons on its top and silver strings well tarnished. There was something else; Jon heard a small metallic object hit the floor as he got a closer look at the harp. He laid the harp at the foot of her statue, and found the object; it was a signet ring, used to identify royalty. Targaryen royalty, he realized as the three-headed dragon stared back at him. _I know who you are, _It seemed to say. He starred at it in stunned silence.

"And your real father-" Howland broke the silence.

"-Was Rhaegar Targaryen," Jon heard himself finish the sentence for Lord Reed.

Suddenly, Jon understood everything.

**Tyrion, and Arianne, Jon Connigton.**

**Don't forget to drop a review, if you like this story, it really means alot to me.**


	4. Birthrights

**Flashback**

He was on his deathbed, and soon his bitter life would end. Surrounded by the officers of the Golden Company that he had founded, this was probably the best way for him to go. The men of the greatest sellsword company that existed were the closest thing he had left to family.

Many of the them had fled to Essos with him following the death of Daemon Blackfyre and his sons.

He had many regrets, but his geatest would be that he could never return home now. He spoke, his voice easily carrying across the large tent so that his last will and testament could be heard.

"When I finally die, boil the the flesh from my skull and dip in gold. When the day comes that you return to Westeros from exile, Take my skull with you so that I may be there." He gripped the pommel of the bastard Valyrian blade on the table astride his deathbed, and gestured to his successor.

"Give this blade, to the one who takes you all home, and if his name is Blackfyre, than so much the better."

* * *

><p><strong>Tyrion <strong>

In a strange way, Tyrion missed the Red Keep, but only because it was missing Cersei. Soon, it would be missing Mace Tyrell and that gods awful crone of thorns. The Tyrells had an option to pledge fealty or relinquish their influence at court. Much to Tyrion's gratitude, The Tyrells chose to leave.

For some reason, Tyrion wondered if the Tyrells had a part in Joffrey's murder. They gained plenty from his alleged deed. He could not help but remember the expressions lady Olenna gave both him and Sansa during the wedding. _She should be thanking me for taking the fall for her and her precious flower Margaery._ If the Queen of Thorns was Joffrey's real killer, than maybe they had Sansa squirred away at Highgarden. _Wherever she is, I hope she knows that she can't hide forever._

Given the condition of the throne room, the queen held court in Maegor's Holdfast. _If Cersei can't have it, than no one else will_. The tower of the hand was completely destroyed by Cersei, within a day of his escape. When he asked a servant about the incident, he was not sure if he should laugh, or shed pure tears of terror. _Seven hells, I did not expect her to become Aerys with teats_.

Ser Barristan once mentioned that Aery's took liberties with the lady mother he never knew, before and during her wedding. Now Tyrion was starting to wonder if those liberties resulted in Jaime and Cersei. _Wouldn't that be ironic father_, thought Tyrion. If that were true, than he was Lord Tywin's only son. _Well, he_ _did not_ _shit gold, why should his seed be any different_. The idea still amused Tyrion to no end. What would Jaime think if he knew that Aerys was actually his father? Could it be possible that Joffrey was actually a Targaryen for whom his family sacrificed so much to keep him on the Throne?

Arrangements were being made for Dany's coronation. She did not consider it important, but with the faith militant as a force to be reckoned with, her blessing would be very important to many lords of Westeros. The faith had been difficult to negotiate with since they rearmed, and they had already blessed Tommen. The high septon had already declared Cersei an enemy of the faith. There was talk that the faith intended to declare Tommen a spawn of incest and bless Aegon who at last report was heading to Oldtown with many of the Reachmen.

As for the Faith Militant itself, they had long since proclaimed a policy of neutrality. That did not change the intolerence many in the order clearly felt for the conquering queen and her court (which included him), to say nothing of their opinion for her supporters, many of whom did not follow the Seven. Although the smallfolk loved their new queen, which had much to do with her generous charity of bread, there were precious few people in King's Landing that celebrated his return.

If Aegon rescued Oldtown from the Ironborn and secured a blessing from the faith, another dance of dragons might happen, Tyrion realized. With Westeros still recovering from the war of five kings and the arrival of winter, another conflict was the last thing the realm needed.

Even without Aegon, who most certainly had the support of Varys, he would have to confront Cersei, and Littlefinger who would inevitably sell her out to the highest bidder. eventually Stannis. Rickon Stark, who was supposedly murdered by Theon Greyjoy, returned from the dead to become the lord of Winterfell. _There goes my chance to claim the North,_ Tyrion thought with no real sense of disappointment_._ There was still no word on his wife's whereabouts, even after accessing the information network that always reported to King's Landing.

There was no word on Jaime's whereabouts either; he had disappeared with a woman from Tarth in the Riverlands. After winning her trial, Cersei stripped Jaime of his white cloak in his absence and charged him with desertion, as if he were the hound. Tyrion really felt sorry for his brother now, Shae's betrayal now paled in comparison to what Jaime was facing.

His squire Belicho brought him a visitor.

"Bronn," It felt good to see the sellsword again.

"That's lord Stokeworth now," Bronn gave the same wolfish grin that Tyrion remembered.

"So what happened to the rest of the Stokeworth family, did they find their way into a few bowls of brown?" It almost felt like old times to Tyrion.

"One tried to kill me, another disappeared under your sister's care, and another conviently died shortly after." The look Bronn gave still made Tyrion feel a little queasy, despite his own sinister deeds.

"All thanks to Tyrion."

"You got a marriage into house Stokeworth through my bitch sister; you became the lord of Stokeworth on your own."

This time, Bronn laughed.

"Not you, I named her baby Tyrion."

Tyrion laughed, and poured a cup of Dornish red, which Bronn took eagerly, "I don't suppose Cersei liked that."

"Not much that she can do about it anymore, I sent a raven to Castle Rosby when she demanded my assistance, and told her that she can't keep bannermen if she keeps trying to kill them, for some reason she seemed to believe that you hiding in Lolly's belly."

Tyrion missed Bronn. It was a shame that Bronn was a lord now. The Golden men could have used another good officer. His personal strong arm of battle hardened cutthroats was 200 swords and growing.

For some time, they talked about adventures past over the flagon of Dornish Red. After Bronn left, Tyrion thought about the current state of affairs.

Cersei would most likely be at Antlers at the edge of the Crownlands, with an estimated strength of 2,000 men. It was laughable when compared to the strength of every other army in Westeros.

In addition to the support of the City Watch, Dany commanded nearly 1,000 swords that were native to Westeros, in addition to 3,000 battle-hardened unsullied who followed her from Slaver's Bay. Nearly 4,000 Ironmen had survived to reach Kings Landing. 6,000 Dothraki mostly from Khal Jhaqo's former khalasar were willing to cross the "poison water" as they called it. Finally, a ragtag army of freedmen and others from the free cities numbered nearly 15,000. All in all, Dany could assemble nearly 30,000 troops, nearly half of which were in King's Landing.

So far the houses of Velaryon and Celtigar in the Narrow Sea, had declared for the silver queen. In the Stormlands, house Selmy was the only house to defy Storm's End and declare for the queen, and not the prince. The house of Sunglass, which had been exiled by Stannis Baratheon, had followed her since Volantis. Now Bronn had just promised the support of house Stokeworth. Tyrion expected the support of the Cracklaw point houses which had been historically speaking, Targaryen loyalists. They had ignored Cersei's call of the banners to Harrenhal.

He looked down at the list of identical documents he was expected to finish and sign. He read the proclamation that every document would have one more time.

The conflict he feared had already begun, with quills and ravens.

* * *

><p><strong>A Princess and a Queen <strong>

Another morning and a storm came over shipbreaker bay. The fury of the Storms over the bay still unsettled her. She found herself missing the company of her new husband.

In many ways Aegon reminded her of Arys Oakheart. Young, comely and shy. But Arys Oakheart did not have the stern Jon Connington to act as a father. He was suspicious of her.

Aegon held most of the Stormlands. His taking of Storm's End had all but convinced the Storm Lords who had little love for Stannis and even less for Cersei, to support him.

Securing a bethrothal with him was far easier than seducing Ser Arys. In the bedchamber, he was about as experienced as Ser Arys (not very much), but that was no surprise considering the stern inflence of Lord Connington. Soon they married here at Storm's End, the home of the usurper. Now, unless she was mistaken, she was with his child. She had already missed her last moonsblood a fortnight past. A child whose birthright was threatened by the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen. Aegon was convinced that she would stay in Essos far to the East.

Following the mysterious death of Myrcella, Her father declared for Aegon. It still made Arianne uneasy at the thought of Myrcella's demise. Ser Balon Swann, the handsome, but cautious knight of the kingsguard, had disappeared.

Obara would know what really happened, but Arianne knew better than to ask. By attempting to crown Myrcella, she had only condemned the girl to death.

Was this what revenge felt like? She had lost an uncle but Queen Cersei had lost a daughter.

Most recently, she lost a brother. Ser Archibald Yronwood had returned to Sunspear, with the bones of Quentyn Martell. Arianne no longer felt animosity toward Quentyn, only sadness. He will never be the heir that her father hoped Quentyn would be. She could never love Quentyn as a brother until after his death.

At the same time, she lost all sympathy that she had towards the mother of dragons, whose children killed her brother. She had not come to help her nephew, but instead came to steal his throne.

* * *

><p><strong>The Griffin of Oldtown<strong>

As they rode through the streets of a liberated Oldtown, a sea of smallfolk watched them pass. "Aegon, Aegon" they cheered. The boy, whom Griff had raised as his own, was regarded as a conquering hero, and it made Jon Connington proud. Some even bent down to kiss the prints that his Black gelding had left.

Aegon lacked dragons, but today he lived up to his namesake. In the cavernous Starry Sept of Oldtown that was once the worldly seat of the Faith, Aegon VI Targaryen knelt before the septon and arose the King of Westeros annointed by the Seven.

Interspersed with perfumed lords and ladies were soldiers from the Golden Company, the Reach and Dorne. Some were still bearing the fresh wounds of battle. Ser Rolly Duckfield of the Kingsguard, who stood below the dais, was holding Aegon's own battle standard.

Sermons, songs, and prayers were heard throughout the Sept.

Ser Baelor Hightower was the first to bend the knee. The Sons of the late Paxter Redwyne and Lord Randyll Tarly followed suit. Their overlords, the Tyrells were not present. Mace Tyrell would be reluctant to declare for Aegon, Jon knew. Of Mace Tyrell's children it was known that Margaery Tyrell was a hostage kept by the Usurper's queen. Loras Tyrell, at last report, was on Dragonstone. Jon had just learned that Dragonstone had fallen to the Daenerys Targaryen. _Only now does she finally show up._

Aegon reluctantly agreed to marry Arianne Martel. _It had to be done, _he still felt annoyance at the neccesity of the match, _the dragons were too far to save us back then, and the Dornish spears were the difference between victory and defeat_. Griff disapproved of the Dornish princess, but they needed the support of Dorne.

So far, most of the Stormlords, and all of Dorne, had declared for Aegon, and he had the loyalty of roughly a third of the Reach on his side. 15,000 Dornishmen, 10,000 men of the Reach, the Golden Company, and 5,000 levies from the Stormlands were under the banner of the three headed dragon.

Oldtown was safe, but Euron Greyjoy had fled to the Arbor, he would have to wait another day.

Afterwards Laswell Peake approached, King Aegon and presented him a bastard sword. Aegon drew the blade from the Golden scabbard for all to see the biter steel. The blade was clearly Valyrian Steel, its hilt, a pair of dragon heads, and a large oval shaped ruby with a third head on the pommel. Jon Connington had known all about this sword and its history, but had not seen it until today.

**Up next: Asha, Aeron, and Sansa**

**Note: don't forget to drop a review if you like this story.**


	5. To the Riverlands

**Asha**

Moat Cailin was fading in the distance as the army moved south. Winter had truly come, just like those damned Starks liked to say. At least the snow drifts were not as high south of Winterfell. Asha was still a prize of Stannis Baratheon waiting to be married off like some lady of the green lands. As if she wasn't already married. Her would be husband, Justin Massey was currently sailing to Bravvos to recruit sellswords.

The order to march came on the heels of the Dreadfort's surrender. The castellan of the Dreadfort apparently had no intention in fighting for an extinguised house Bolton.

The Bastard of Bolton had lost Winterfell in the same way that he gained it, by treachery. The battle for Winterfell had gone exactly as Stannis planned. His men stayed on the edge of the frozen lakes and waited for the enemy to come. The Freys came first and lost the majority of their forces to the frigid waters outside of the village. Those who survived fled the battle only to be slaughtered by the Manderly troops. Lord Wyman Manderly, who was the fattest greenlander she had ever seen, declared for Stannis. His men returned to Winterfell claiming to have slain King Stannis bringing his sword as proof. Shortly afterward the rest of the Baratheon army entered Winterfell claiming to be the Freys. When the signal was given the Northmen garrison turned on the Boltons.

Roose Bolton had been killed in the fighting, stabbed in the heart by one of his loyal bannermen. Ramsay Snow, her brother's tormentor on the other hand, had been seriously wounded but was taken alive. Her brother's captor had been burned alive as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light.

Asha agreed to deliver Torrhen's Square in exchange for a merciful death for Theon. Stannis agreed, and personally beheaded Theon with Lightbringer in the godswood of Winterfell before the heart tree. _My name is Theon Greyjoy_. It haunted Asha to remember just how accepting of his death Theon was when he uttered his last words. In fact, when he was alone in the godswood, before his execution, she almost could hear him talking to the trees _don't save me, i'm ready_, he seemed to say.

Within a week, Asha lived up to her part of the bargain and delivered Torrhen's Square. The fate of the garrison had been far more merciful than that of the garrison at Moat Caillin.

The Northmen and Stannis alike insisted on a march to the Twins, the crannogmen of the neck would ferry men to the other side of the river, and allow an actual siege to happen.

Jon Snow, the once dead lord commander of the Night's Watch, was coming south to join Stannis with some 5,000 men, most of them from beyond the wall, it was even rumored that he had brought giants and other things that many of the men were uneasy in talking about. His forces would augment the king's own, when he laid siege to the Twins.

Asha rode beside Lord Seaworth. The famed onion knight bore living testimony to Stannis Baratheon's harsh sense of justice.

"Do you really believe Stannis has a chance at winning the Iron Throne?" Asha asked the hand who was missing much of his own hand.

"Stannis won the North, what are six kingdoms compared to the North." Davos said with cautious pride. "If he can isolate the Freys, he will have the support of the Riverlands."

"What about the Vale, the West, and the rest of the Greenlands."

Despite being a notorious smuggler, Lord Seaworth shared much of his king's sense of justice and frowned slightly at the mention of the word greenlands. There was little love for the Ironborn here, especially among Stannis Baratheon's company. King's men and Queen's men both disliked her, due to her Ironborn origins.

Still Lord Davos Seaworth was a captain at heart no matter what titles he had.

"I can only guess what happens next, we will worry about that when the time comes," he replied.

A raven flew over thier heads and settled on a tree branch, "Snow, Prince," it called.

**Aeron **

Aeron was not on Great Wyk as his Drowned Men claimed, but rather on Harlaw. Of all the lords on the Iron Islands, the Harlaws seemed to be the most like the greenlanders. In fact, they not only had maesters here but septons as well, agents of that seven pointed greenlander idol.

He heard the rusty hinge of the door squeal as it opened. _Euron is still far away,_ the Damphair reassured himself.

Rodrick Harlaw and his maester entered the chambers. "We are losing the war," Lord Harlaw spoke without preamble.

"Euron Crow's Eye lost roughly half of his forces at Oldtown, he is moving towards the Shield Islands as we speak." The reader continued in disbelief, "I believe he means to lauch an offensive on Highgarden, given the political situation in the Reach".

Only someone like Euron Crow's Eye would be capable of such madness. His brother had lost the North, and now was about to lose the South. Brightwater Keep, the Arbor and the shield islands were still ironborn territory.

"We need a new king of the isles, before your brother destroys us all."

Aeron wished that Victarion had not been sent half a world away, his brother had deprived Victarion of the support that he would need to sit the seastone chair.

If only the Drowned god sent a kraken for Euron's Silence.

**Alayne **

Maidenpool was a place young Sansa would have found appealing. Much smaller than Gulltown, but much prettier, Alayne thought.

Alayne felt somewhat uneasy now that she was outside of the Vale. Daenerys Targaryen had taken King's Landing. _Dragons in Westeros._ It would not matter if she was still in the Vale; no place was safe from dragons. If the dragons had not come in the first place, Westeros would probably still be seven kingdoms.

Petyr admitted that he had not planned for the dragons, but assured her that her arrival would be beneficial in the long term, in climbing the 'ladder of choas' as he called it.

Sansa felt increasingly ill at ease on the subject of Petyr's schemes. She had realized long ago that she would never actually marry Harrold Hardying. Sweet Robin's health had improved noticibly sense coming down from the Eyrie. She liked to think that Alayne had a role in Sweet Robin's improving health. In reality, it probably had more to do with the fact that she was always watching Robin's diet.

She did not particularly mind. Although Harry was clearly smitten for her, she could not genuinely return his affection. Harry was handsome and gallant and looked nearly as strong as the hound, but was clearly not her perfect prince. Where Joffrey was cruel and sadistic, he was arrogant and vain. He seemed to think that he was entitled to her maidenhead well before the bethrothal was even announced. Why should he care? The heir to the Vale had already fathered two bastard girls just like Alayne.

Two conditions kept her from wedding and bedding Harry, either of which could confront her any day now. She was not sure which one would be worse.

The lords of the Vale were guests at Mooton Keep. She took the quarters meant for Alayne's father who was out with Ser Lother Brune near Cracklaw Point, less than a day's ride.

A raven had arrived from King's Landing. The Vale lords seemed very concerned of the message that came. _The dragons are coming_ thought Sansa. Eventually, she saw the parchment the parchment that had everyone worried, courtesy of Randa, who held it before her.

_I am Daenerys Targeryen, the unburnt, the queen of Slaver's Bay, and Volantis, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the first men, the breaker of chains and the mother of dragons. By right of birth and blood, I hold the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty and purge the realm of all usurpers._

Her heart clenched in silent fear, when she read the second half of the letter.

_I, Tyrion of the house Lannister and hand of the one true queen, hearby declare my nephew Tommen, to be the product of incest between my brother Jaime, and my sister Cersei. _

_To the lords of the Vale who are currently travelling to Harrenhal, abandon the folly of supporting my sister; you will gain nothing from her. Do not take arms against Queen Daenerys Targaryen; your armies are no longer hiding behind the mountians of the moon. All those who read this letter are summoned to King's Landing to pledge fealty to their true queen._

Incest, wasn't that what her father said? She suddenly remembered that fateful day before Baelor's Sept when her father confessed to treason against Joffrey, when he went through great pains to recant his claim that Joffrey was born of incest.

So father was right, Sansa realized with a start. Did Tyrion know this all along? That was not important at the moment however.

She looked around. There were few lords in the room, when she began reading the letter. Now only Randa remained. "Alayne, you look like you've seen a ghost." The mischevous grin that Randa gave was more than Sansa could take.

In a brief display of fury, she shoved Randa against the wall, although she was bigger than Sansa and older by six namedays, Randa was caught completely off guard. "Stop toying with me, you know very well what I saw."

Myranda Royce quickly recovered herself. "What are you talking about … Alayne?"

That pause served to irritate Sansa even more. She was losing Alayne, but it did not matter, at least to Randa.

She lowered her voice, "you know who I am, how?"

Randa sighed, "It wasn't one thing, it was many little things put together"

"Such as."

"You were very well mannered for a bastard, and you don't look like a whore's daughter. That part about growing up with the faith threw me off, but I saw your hair, when it came time to pay pillow tax. You only bothered to dye the hair on your head and not the hair under your arms." She looked smug. "Sad to say, the curtains did not match the carpet."

Sansa felt ashamed, for not thinking of that.

"What really gave you away was your reaction to news concerning your kin; I mean you looked terrible for a long time when I told you about Jon Snow's murder."

"Who else knows about me?"

"My father knows about you, so does Yohn Royce."

"Please don't tell anybody else about me." Alayne plead for the remains of her identity.

"Alayne," Randa said softly, "I won't tell anyone about you, but soon the Lannisters will find you, if not the Targaryens."

Alayne left with the message, she would have to see father about this.

For several hours Alayne stayed hidden in her chambers. Reading the raven over and over, and thinking of her past in King's Landing. "All those Lannister lies." It was far worse now, Sansa realized.

As dusk approached, so did Littlefinger.

She could smell the mint under his breath, with the faintest scent of wine. Sansa had long since learned that the Littlefinger drank when he was unhappy, but this time he seemed he looked like he had some good news to share.

"I've returned sweetling, with the support of Cracklaw Point. That deserves a kiss from my beloved daughter." Alayne masked her feelings momentarily, and gave her father a kiss.

"Is something amiss, Alayne?" She handed him the parchment.

"Will you go to King's Landing?" Sansa asked when he read it.

"Why should I go to the Capital?" Baelish spoke as if it was so simple. "The Targaryen dragons don't seem to like the songs of mockingbirds, Daenery's Targaryen may be a conqueror, but just like Robert Baratheon, she is a weak ruler and overly righteous at that." Petyr spoke with only the slightest irratation as he continued, "She would have been nowhere today, had not every other exile from Westeros fallen into her lap. Without them, she would run the seven kingdoms into the ground just as fast as Cersei, and unlike Cersei, she does not have seven kingdoms to start with."

Petyr looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Should any ill befall her most trusted advisors, she will lash out in the same way Cersei does. Dragons or none, Daenery's Targaryen will not have much easy time getting the support she needs to rule Westeros with. Even those who declare for her will turn on her just as quick"

Do you have a plan? Sansa knew better than to ask. Lord Baelish treated her as his own daughter, and saw her as something more, but that did not change the fact was every bit as dangerous as every Lannister she knew combined.

"The war of five kings is almost over; the next war will be one of four queens and three kings."

**Up next: Jaime, Samwell, and Bran**


	6. Weirwood

**Flashforward**

His corspe was gently thrown into the river. _Poor man_, thought the archer, _even his luck ran out._

"Tom" he called, "Can you sing a song for him."

The singer obliged and played _the day they hung Black Robin._

He saw his friend drifting down the river, and lit the arrow he was holding with his half drawn bow.

The shot was fired without hesitation, and made its mark. Although the corpse did not catch fire, he had shown his friend proper respect, as there were no boats to waste after yesterday's wedding.

* * *

><p><strong>Samwell<strong>

He woke up with a start, and found that he was back in his chambers on the Island of Ravens. What happened? The last thing he remembered was the sound of hooves as he blacked out from the pain.

His right hand moved for his left shoulder, he had been shot. Sam could feel his eyes blur as he turned to look at the wound. The wound had been properly treated, but it still stung.

He stared at the ceiling for some time as he thought about the battle and what had happened afterwards. The thunder of hooves could only have meant reinforcements, where from Sam had no idea.

Samwell heard the door to his chambers open, it was Alleras. "You're awake," he drawled, "It took you long enough."

"How long has it been?" Samwell's voice was hoarse from disuse.

"Three days now."

"Did we win?" Sam asked sheepishly.

Alleras laughed, "Gods slayer, do you think the Squids would haul your fat corpse all the way back here if they won."

"I mean what happened?"

"Aegon Targaryen came all the way from Storm's End."

"Targaryens here, is he really a Targaryen?" Samwell had heard about a Targaryen returning from exile in the Stormlands. Last he heard, Dorne had declared for him.

"Well there are some doubts as to his identity; many find it strange that he landed in Westeros with the Golden Company."

"What do you think?" He rasped.

"Does it really matter? The Lannisters held the throne for a few years after King Robert died; despite rumors that his sucessors were born of incest. Unlike Kings Joffrey and Tommen, Aegon actually looks like who he says he is."

Samwell pondered the statement for a moment.

"Who does house Tarly fight for?"

"As of yesterday, your father bent the knee for Aegon"

Samwell paled at the mention of his father. "Is he … here?"

"That's right slayer. He defied Mace Tyrell and pledged Horn Hill to the Targaryen banner."

"Does he know that I'm here?"

"He'll know soon enough, even if he hasn't met your … bastard."

Sam instinctively tried to rise. He would rather not have his father meet him in the sick bed. It was more difficult than he thought it would be, but he still managed.

He felt his stomach growl. Gods he was hungry. He limped his way to the commons which was mostly empty at this hour. There he broke his fast on a bowl of porridge and a slice of ham.

Afterwards, he made his way to the weirwood tree in the courtyard, to pray. Had he not been surrounded by Marwyn's pupils, Sam would have been mocked for that too. Even in Oldtown the power of the weirwoods could still be felt to those who followed the old gods.

He thought he heard a whisper in the wind.

_Brother_

He had heard that voice before, but he could not place where.

_Jon_

It was then that Samwell noticed the face in the Weirwood. It had to be Bran Stark, that little brother of Jon.

"Where are you?"

_North_

The voice in wind was fading.

_Night, coming_

He could no longer hear the wind.

"Slayer," Lazy Leo called out in the distance. He broke from his reverie and turned to face the half-breed Dornishmen.

"Lord Tarly wants to see you.

"King," he could hear a raven call.

* * *

><p><strong>The Greenseer<strong>

The wind was fierce and the air was cold, but under the hill, Bran Stark was warm.

On his greenseer throne, Bran had visons, not just those of from the the godswood of Winterfell. Now he could see through any heart tree, even ones south of the neck.

Through the Weirwoods in the neck, he could see another army marching down the neck, this time; he could see Jon at its head.

_You're going the wrong way, _Bran wanted to say, but Jon surely knew that. Bran had seen Jon in Winterfell. At first, he was sullen as usual, but later in his stay Bran could taste the fury that from came from Jon.

Bran had eyes all over the North, "a thousand eyes and one", the three-eyed crow called it.

These days Bran was finding eyes south of the neck. So far he had found a large grove of weirwoods on an island somewhere in the Riverlands. He could see through many heart trees within many castles, but few houses south of the neck kept the old gods.

Bran found the heart tree in King's Landing, the place a whole Bran was supposed to go. Through its eyes he could see Sansa praying for a chance to go home, he saw father praying to the tree as well.

Most recently, he found eyes in an old Castle as far south as he had ever seen. Through its heart tree he saw a man of the Night's Watch praying. He remembered this particular man, the one who came to the Nightfort with Coldhands.

Getting a message through the Weirwoods was difficult. You had to will a certain word to be heard by anyone in front of the heart tree, and each word seemed to take a lot of energy.

This time, he managed to get out five words.

The ravens he warged were scarcely easier when you had to warg them through a weirwood.

The man of the night's watch suddenly turned from the tree.

* * *

><p><strong>Samwell<strong>

Sam could feel his insides turning to jelly, he no longer felt like Sam the Slayer.

Randyll Tarly entered the courtyard several retainers in tow. His father was somewhat older than he remembered, but was no less terrifying. Lord Tarly was clearly displeased at the sight of him.

Samwell Tarly could recognize at least two of his father's guards. He saw a concerned Alleras looking out of the white tower, and a smirking Leo Tyrell on the steps leading to the battlements.

Jon had commanded Samwell Tarly to hide his fear. He was still a craven, but he would not give Lazy Leo any satisfaction by cowering in fear.

Before he could say anything, his father spoke first.

"You're still fat."

He nodded timidly, "Lord Tarly"

"Son, what in seven hells are you doing in the Citadel? I told you that no Tarly of Horn Hill will ever wear a maester's chain. Did the Night's Watch send you here because you couldn't take the wall?"

As scarred as he was of his father, it was more than he could take. "I am no Tarly of Horn Hill; I am a man of the Night's Watch." Sam stammered with as much heat as he could muster.

"I didn't think you even had the courage to defy your father." Randyll Tarly spoke with some disbelief.

" I have no father, only brothers." Samwell Tarly replied.

His fellow acolytes were stunned at what he said; even Lazy Leo could not hold back a grin. It felt good.

Much to Sam's surprise, Lord Tarly actually laughed. It was a dry sound lacking in humor or even mirth. "Are you still a craven?"

"No," he lied, "I killed an Other, with a dagger of dragonglass."

"Other" a raven called from its perch on the Weirwood.

* * *

><p><strong>Jaime<strong>

The morning sun was shining on the snow in a way that the hard powdery snow seemed to shimmer.

Once again, Jaime approached Riverrun.

It seemed that every time Jamie was in the Riverlands, he lost a hand. First, the Brave Companions took his sword hand, now the Brotherhood without banners took his golden hand. Brienne had led him straight into the outlaw brotherhood.

Once long ago, Jaime thought he could trust Cersei, afterwards he formed a special bond of trust with Brienne.

Both had disappointed Jaime, but at least Jaime understood Brienne's intentions. In a trial by battle, Jaime somehow managed to best his challenger Lem Pisscloak, with Oathkeeper, which Brienne had returned him out of guilt.

The thing that was once Catelyn Stark was less than interested in honoring the results of his trial by combat. "And she once thought I had shit for honor," Jaime heard himself say to no one in particular.

The results of the trial ended up of dividing much of the brotherhood. Many of Beric Dondarrion's old supporters threatened to leave if his victory was not honored. Lady Stoneheart as they called her now, relented reluctantly.

Afterwards, Brienne took the helm which was once Sandor Clegane's, to hide her disfigured face. They went their separate ways.

If either of them found Catelyn Stark's daugthers, they would see them to safety without telling the other where they would go. However, the chance of meeting either of them seemed to lessen with the turn of every moon.

The drawbridge to Riverrun came down; he rode Honor through the gates of Riverrun and its sandstone walls crowned with snow.

A guardsman wearing the sigil of Frey at Riverrun recognized him. He disliked the sight of the Twin towers of Frey aside the Lion of Lannister.

"Ser Jaime?"

"Where in seven hells is Lord Daven?" Jaime asked with some impatience. He needed a hot meal right now.

"He just got back yesterday from Golden Tooth," guard replied nervously.

"Can you get him for me?" The man hurried to obey his command; it felt good to be in the midst of Westermen once more.

He dismounted and gave his horse to a squire who wore a Lefford doublet.

Moments later Daven Lannister Appeared. _We look alike, now that my beard has grown out, _Jaime mused.

"Did you come for the wedding, cousin?" asked Devan.

"When are you getting married?"

"Tomorrow."

Suddenly a score of men at arms surrounded him.

"What's going on," an exasperated Jaime growled, as a pair of Lannister guardsmen disarmed him. One of them removed Oathkeeper from his side.

"Forgive me Ser Jaime, but the queen has ordered your arrest for desertion.

**up next: Jon, Aeron, and Jaime. **


	7. Red and Blue

**Flashforward**

A bowl of warm onion soup was set before him. He spooned the bowl carefully.

"Do you plan to spend the night here?"

"No, I just needed a meal."

He produced another copper, "I want some ale, wine, whatever you have these days."

"We have some ale," the innkeep announced meeky, "but it's not very good."

"The ale will be good enough; it's been bloody cold these days."

The ale was a little watery, but he felt the warmth surge through his veins.

"Any news lately?"

"Same old, same old," the woman told him. "Every army in the seven kingdoms is coming to Riverlands."

"Where are you from," the innkeeper asked.

"Fairmarket."

"Where are you heading?"

The stares of the fatherless orphans were all he needed to make his decision.

_Seven save me_

* * *

><p><strong>The Damphair<strong>

Nightime had come, and it was time to put out the fire. He looked around, and when he was certain that nobody was around, he undid his robe and relieved himself over the fire. He could easily put out a fire by pissing on it. He quickly moved away and proceded to tie his robe back on.

_too late._ Behind him came the scream of a rusted iron hinge.

Aeron was sweating he knew, and was too terrified to turn around. Not that he would have to at this ungodly hour.

"Hello little brother," Euron's voice carried its familiar, but dangerous charm.

"You missed the priest's sermon this morning, I assume that you had too much to drink last night."

Aeron might have pissed himself if his bladder had not already been emptied seconds ago.

The footsteps behind him were painfully slow, but agile as those of a cat. A hand gripped his shoulders and spun him around. His blue eye was as tranquil as the sunset sea in the summer and gave no indication of the malice and hunger for power that his black eye showed.

"The priest gave me his blessing this morning, now it's time that you knelt for yours."

His right leg gave in, with a swift kick from his older brother, and soon he was on his knees.

Aeron awoke in a cold sweat, screaming.

He was quickly reasurred by feel of the seas, and the steady beat of the oars helped him remember where he was.

The Longship had easily passed the patrols ordered by the Goodbrothers, and Lord Drumm who had married Asha, with a seal to stand in as proxy.

Aeron would be sailing to the Greenlands once more. Rodrick Harlaw wanted him to find Asha, no woman would ever rule the Ironborn, but it would still be better than Euron.

* * *

><p><strong>Jon<strong>

A light blanket of snow covered the siege camp of Stannis Baratheon. Beyond the camp was the Twins, the place of Robb's death.

6,000 men were at his at back, 4,000 of them from beyond the wall. Galbart Glover had told him to expect 8,000 men under the banner of the fiery Stag.

Jon rode ahead with his best commanders to confront King Stannis.

He entered the King's Pavilion with Galbart Glover, Sigorn, Tormund, and Larence Snow who had now seen fifteen namedays, and commanded the Hornwood force. Last but not least was Devan Seaworth who was the King's Squire and later the squire of his true queen, who would now get to see his father.

The campaign against house Bolton, had taken its toll on the Baratheon King. Jon was not sure if Stannis would survive to take the Iron Throne. By his side was his hand and Devan's father, Davos Seaworth. He saw an emotional reunion between father and son, as he faced Stannis.

He did not fail to notice the state of ease that Ghost had settled into.

Jon felt awkward when he took the knee. _Should I tell him about my parentage or even about Robb's will? _It still made him angry to think about all the trouble his parents caused by creating him. He loved the mother he never knew, and his uncle simply for what had done to protect him. The real reason Lyanna wanted to be buried in the crypts, was to protect him. Lord Reed explained that the Silent Sisters would have surely known if she had given birth, and sooner or later, Robert Baratheon would have been knocking on Winterfell's gate with the Warhammer that Donal Noye had forged.

"Rise."

He rose from one knee.

"I hearby legitimize you as Jon Stark and name you my heir." Jon was dumbstruck, he had not expected this.

"The Realm needs a man who will put its good before his own." Stannis continued. "Will you accept your duty?

He looked at Lord Seaworth and hesitated for a moment before making his decision.

"I will," Jon looked him in the eyes for what he would say next. "But not as a rival to Rickon's birthright." Jon produced the signet ring that he found in his mother's tomb. "Legitimize me as Jon Targaryen." He couldn't help but think of how Mance Rayder left the Night's Watch for adding red to his black cloak.

It was now Stannis Baratheon's turn to show surprise.

"Your brother Robert would have been furious if he had known that Lyanna Stark had a son by Rhaegar." Jon explained. "My uncle, promised her before she died that I would be safe from his wrath."

It went against everything for him to say it. It caused him great pain to acknoledge his real father and refuse the name Stark once more, but he did for man who should have been his father. He wondered what Catelyn Stark would have said about this, that spiteful woman who had hated him for a lie. It was ironic, Oswell Whent had been her uncle on her mother's side, Howland Reed had said. Would Ser Oswell feel shame at the needless spite of his niece?

King Stannis could only grind his teeth. "It would seem that Targaryens are everywhere these days. Very well Jon Targaryen, I name you my heir."

* * *

><p><strong>Jaime<strong>

The conditions for captivity were the gentlest he had experienced yet. Still it did not lessen the sting of Cersei's betrayal. _She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleback and Moonboy too._

The door opened, "it's time Ser Jaime." His escort was a pair of Lord Devan's household guards and Lewys Piper as well as his older brother Marq who greeted him with a scowl. "Be glad that you're a Lannister, Kingslayer."

At least he would get to see his cousin's wedding.

As they escorted him to the sept on Riverrun, he thought about the news he had learned over the past day.

Daenerys Targaryen had taken King's Landing with the help of Tyrion. _So that's what Varys did with him_ Jaime mused. Tyrion had sworn vengence on House Lannister and was coming for Cersei.

Jaime realized that he didn't really care. When news came to him during his captivity in the brotherhood without banners, of Cersei's pennace walk, the outlaws thought he would feel sorrow at the tidings of Cersei's shame. The surprise they showed when he laughed was truly sweet. She had surivived the trials of the faith with the help of a new brother of the Kingsguard whom he had never heard of, Ser Robert Strong, who killed Lancel for during to bring Cersei to justice. As far as Jaime knew, the house of Strong was yet another house to face extinction for holding the cursed citadel of Harrenhal.

Cersei was rallying her supporters at Harrenhal at the advice of Littlefinger. Tomorrow after the wedding a force of 15,000 troops from both the Riverlands and the Westerlands would join her. It was at Harrenhal that he would face his sister. He immediately sensed a bad omen. _Why does it have to be Harrenhal_? He wondered if there was to be another tourney at that gods forsaken pile of stone.

His captors escorted him out of Riverrun's Triangular keep. The path to the sept gave him a good view of the small harbor within the river fortress. He briefly noticed the Rivergate that towered over the small harbor. Jaime remembered Edmure Tully telling him of how the Blackfish escaped. The gate was open, but Jaime knew it was a bad idea

Several small galleys were in the harbor now. Most of them bore sigils of Riverlords who had been summoned to witness the wedding. Jaime spied one of them which bore the dancing maiden of Piper; its crew was unloading barrels. Lord Clement Piper noticed him, and Jaime felt his accusing eyes, before Lord Piper was distracted by the sight of his sons.

The sept was alight with half a hundred shimmering candles. The ceremony itself went as if it were a dream. It didn't feel like a very good dream, Alyx Frey was the girl who was to wed his cousin. Taking a vow of monogamy with this Frey girl would clearly be one of Devan Lannister's braver moments in life.

Afterwards Jaime was escorted to the feast hall, which was only a small bridge away from the sept. Immediately, once inside he noticed a large banner of house Frey of Riverrun. Beyond the edges of the banner, Jaime could see a large wooden panel painted in the azure blue and muddy red, that reminded him of the Castle's previous owners.

_It's still not your castle Emmon Frey,_ Jaime felt himself smirk at the insecurity of his uncle by marriage.

On one side of the hall were the banners of the Riverlords, and on the other, were the banners of Westermen. Lord Daven intended for this wedding to be the peaceful union between the Lannisters and Freys.

He could see Daven on the dais with his newly wed and Emmon Frey as well as aunt Genna. The hall itself was crowded, with a cacophony that made the music difficult to hear. He glimsed the band that was playing, and saw Tom 'O Sevens among the minstrels. Looks like he's done well for himself, Jaime grinned.

Jaime was given a dish of River Trout and a bowl of leek soup with a goblet of some Riverland vintage that the Blackfish had left behind in the cellars of Riverrun. On his left was Lewys Piper and on his right was Ser Lyle Crakehall. At least neither of them would judge him. Across from him was Ser Ilyn, grim as usual. The thought that Ilyn Payne might strike of his head at the word of Cersei unsettled him. Clearly, Ser Ilyn was not looking forward to that moment either. By the time he finished his meal, the Strongboar had downed at least a whole flagon of wine.

After a few cups of wine that he drank to settle his stomach, the hall seemed to have quieted somewhat. The music was noticibly better, and easier to hear. They played the "Dornishmen's wife", and "The Bear and the Maiden fair", Then the "The Dance of Dragons." Eventually the band played "The Rains of Castamere."

The Wine had done little to dull his senses, much less the pain he felt. Jaime could hear the hall become deathly quiet, as the song of Tywin Lannister's legacy played. He recalled that many guests in this very room were present to witness Edmure Tully's ill fated wedding. The Tension in the room was thick, with Rivermen eyeing their Westerland counterparts suspiciously, and even more so for every Frey in the hall.

Immediately before anyone could complain about the reminder of his father's grisly legacy, the minstrels played another song. This one Jaime had never heard before.

_Out in the Riverlands town of Fairmarket, there lived both my greatest folly and love_

_Bessa was her name, the girl that I'd die for, golden of hair and as sweet as a dove_

Suddenly a pair of Vance knights got up and moved for the doors.

_But one day a knight by the the name of Ser Shadrich, saw her and wanted her too_

_He took her and had his merry way; all that I could do was to watch _

As they opened the doors and let in the light winter chill, he noticed that Lewys was sweating profusely. It was then that Jaime noticed the jerkin of boiled leather that he wore underneath his courtly garb.

_So in anger, I challenged his rights on the girl that I loved so_

_Down a hand for the dagger he wore_

Silent Ser Ilyn was looking around nervously. The Strongboar, who was now very drunk, was bracing for a fight.

_My dagger beat his and in only a moment, _

_The dashing young knight fell down dead on the floor_

Something was wrong here; Jaime reached for his knife, and prepared for the worst.

_And so I fled just as fast as I could from my home in Fairmarket_

_Out to the woods in the sight of God's eye_

A man from behind tried to tackle Ser Lyle, but instead was thrown off by the brute of a man he was.

_Now it's been to long since I've seen my sweet Bessa_

_But my love is stronger than my fear of the law_

Jaime looked around and saw the room become one big fight.

_And so I set out, to meet my love and fate, travelling alone in the dark_

_Mayhaps on the morrow an arrow might take me_

_But today nothing's worse than than this pain in my heart_

Suddenly two dozen armed men entered the feast hall._ The fucking_ _Brotherhood without banners._ Lewys drew a knife from his sleeve and lept across the table to stab Ser Ilyn. The shrieks of wounded men and steel on steel filled the hall and quickly drowned out all other sounds, even the arrows that seemed to come out of nowhere to strike wood and flesh.

Jaime Lannister recovered his senses and got up from his seat, this was his chance to escape, and even if he failed, it was still better than dying at his table.

How did the archers get in here? Arrows were coming from both sides of the hall.

He found himself face to face with a young knight in Mallister colors. The man rushed him, with a dagger. Jaime blocked the thrust with a clumsy but desperate parry, and before the man could recover, he punched the man in the face with the stump of his right hand. With his left hand, he cut a wicked gash along the man's arm. Jaime dropped his knife and wrestled the dagger from the Mallister's hand while felling him with a second punch from his ugly stump.

He looked towards the Dais and noticed Devan Lannister at its foot, sword flashing in hand. The blade had the distinctive glint of Valyrian steel. _Damn you Daven_. Two attackers had already fallen at his feet. To Devan's right was the exit Jaime was hoping to find.

Jaime ran for the exit, vaulting over an overturned table. He lept onto another table and sprinted its length. He was almost at the end of the longtable when a strong hand seized his left ankle. Jaime fell with a cry of fury and tumbled from end of the table. Instinctively, he thrust out his right arm to brace the fall.

His stump made contact with the ground, and Jaime felt the pain. Before he could get up, three different hands seized him.

While still on the floor, he saw that Devan had collapsed on his knees, three arrows protruding from his chest, Oathkeeper fallen from his now feeble grip.

Two pairs of arms lifted him from the floor, much to his surprise they were Blackwood men. A third man in a Blackwood doublet turned out to be none other than Tytos Blackwood.

"You fool," Jaime heard himself snarl, "Hoster Blackwood is going to pay for your treachery."

"Sorry Ser Jaime, but he won't." Tytos Blackwood beamed with satisfaction. "Your sister did not think to take him with her to Harrenhal. I got a raven from him last week; it seems that he's befriended your little brother. He will reward the Blackwoods, Mallisters, the Vances and the Pipers just like Tywin Lannister rewarded the Freys and Boltons, except this time, I will have benefactors more reliable than queen Cersei."

From the exit that he had hoped to leave this gruesome spectacle, Jaime saw four men armed with longswords and dressed in light mail. Their shields bore the device of House Smallwood. From behind them came the ghost of Catelyn Stark.

She first moved towards his dying cousin, and coldly silenced him with a dagger to his throat. Then she turned towards Emmon Frey who was cowering in fear and his aunt Genna who somehow managed to keep her dignity. Alyx Lannister, who became a widow at her own wedding, was utterly parylzed in fear.

"What should we do with them my lady?" A voice from the North asked. Lady Stoneheart hissed something he could not understand. A dozen outlaws with longbows stepped forward.

"Please spare me!" Emmon Frey cried out. "The queen will pay a handsome ransom for her kin."

Jaime looked at Genna; she said nothing, most likely knowing the futility of her husband's plea.

"The queen bitch, wouldn't ransom you even if she had the gold." Jaime recognized the voice of Jack-be-lucky. "Besides, the only good Frey is a dead Frey."

A fusilade of arrows ended the three remaining wedding guests of honor.

"No!" Jaime heard himself scream as aunt Genna slumped out of her chair and out of his sight.

The ghost of Catelyn Stark turned her horrible eyes to face him.

"My lady, Queen Daenerys, will want Ser Jaime alive." Tytos Blackwood spoke up fearing her judgement.

She picked up Oathkeeper, before giving a reply.

"Godswood," she hissed.

"But my Lady, he's worth more alive than dead."

_So was Genna, _thought Jaime with sadness. Cersei would not have paid, not if she was willing to murder Uncle Kevan to maintain her power. The Targaryen Queen would have though, if Tyrion's shadow was as big as everyone claimed.

After a brief wordless standoff between the Blackwoods and the brotherhood, the Blackwood men, stepped aside to let the outlaw brotherhood take him prisoner.

His captors dragged him through the feast hall exit to the godswood of Riverrun which was just behind the hall.

With the crossing of a small wooden bridge, he was standing before the heart tree. One of his captors released him, presumably to get a block.

Jack-be-lucky was among those on the small island of the heart tree.

"I still have your lucky hand, Kingslayer." He reached through a large bag to produce the golden hand.

Jaime could not explain what he felt next, it was a breeze, but there was something more to it. Lady Stoneheart began pointing Oathkeeper towards the heart tree and hissed viciously, "who?"

He saw his opportunity; one man was holding him from behind, with both arms positioned together.

Without giving any warning, Jaime kicked the man in his shin. His captor gave a cry of pain when he escaped and barreled into Lady Stoneheart. She loosened her grip on Oathkeeper, and he seized the blade by its golden hilt.

Jaime got a good grip on Oathkeeper, and slashed at a man who was clearly unprepared. Jack lunged at him with the sack, swinging it as if it were some great club. He ducked the swing and skewered not so lucky Jack.

He thanked Jack for his hand before jumping into pond. Jaime opened the sack and tossed in Oathkeeper before gripping the bag with his teeth and following the light current.

Because the Tumblestone forked into the Godswood of Riverrun, the current flowed into the harbor which in turn flowed into the Red Fork. Swimming was an awkward experience for Jaime without his right hand, and a thick leather sack in his teeth which were shivering from the frigid water. Still, he made it to the Rivergate, with no opposition save a few wild arrows.

The Rivergate was coming down, but it was not fast enough to keep Jaime Lannister in Riverrun. Not this time.

**Note: Man, this chapter was a monster to write. Does anyone have a good fan name for this wedding?**

**BTW does anyone else believe the theories about what really happened between Aeron and Euron?**

**Next up: Arya, Tyrion, and Asha**


	8. Gateways

**Arya**

Dawn came to To King's Landing.

Everytime, a party of lords came to King's Landing; a small company would be waiting outside the city for them. Today Arya's company had been tasked to escort a delegation of lords from Cracklaw Point, to the Red Keep. They waited just outside the old gate.

The company that she had joined under back in Pentos was mounted. Her comrades were a mix of Pentoshi, Volanteen Freedman, and Dothraki, with even a few Westerosi exiles such as herself.

The company commander, Ser Tumco Lho, whom everyone called the Basilisk, was a battle hardened veteran of the Targaryen army. His sigil was a red Basilisk on a black field. He rode ahead with an officer of the Gold Cloaks and an officer of the Golden Men. There was only one Lannister left in King's Landing, Arya knew, and few could match his hatred of Queen Cersei. This still did not change Arya's opinion of the Gold Cloaks.

As for the Golden men, Arya found them to be an even more sinister reminder of the Lannisters. Founded by Tyrion Lannister, the Golden Men were his personal bodyguard and his very own force of hired killers; there was no force in the Targaryen army like them. Even proud knights, showed a healthy fear of any man whose shield bore the golden handprint. _And fear cuts deeper than swords_.

The armor that marked them, for who they were, was anything but golden. It was black almost everywhere; the cloaks their officers wore were of darkest crimson, their gorgets gilded steel. The officer who rode with the party was a gaunt man from Volantis, with Tiger stripes tatooed on his forehead, and a demon branded into cheek that somehow reminded her of the hound. Arya knew what the brand meant of course.

The man at the head of the party introduced himself as Ser Bennard Brune, the knight of Brownhollow.

"I have the honor to be Ser Tumco Lho."

"Where did you get your knighthood … Ser?" Arya noticed that both men seemed to think themselves better than to the other.

The Basilisk stared at him with an easy look of bored contempt, "I got mine from Ser Barristan the Bold."

If Ser Bennard sensed the danger, he was hiding it well. "They say he knighted hundreds of foreigners, just like you." She knew that by foreigners he meant lowborn.

Ser Tumco only laughed. "When I saw other Westerosi knights here King's Landing, I had thought Ser Barristan japed about the value of a knighthood."

For a moment the two looked ready to fight. "Welcome to King's Landing," the officer of the City Watch interjected. Both men took the opening and Ser Tumco ordered the company to fall in line and escort the party to the Red Keep.

As the company made their way to the Red Keep, Arya noticed a familiar sight from Braavos.

"Wait, I know you." She called out.

The woman turned her head to face Arya. Her hair was as dark as a raven, her eyes were blue, and she could not have seen more than thirty namedays.

"Do I know you?" She asked.

Arya was not sure if she was wearing another face at the time. "You were the Sailor's Wife."

The woman did not like the reminder of her past in Braavos, and frowned.

"I was, before the happy port burned down."

"I'm sorry," Arya heard herself say.

"So were the men who did the deed. They thought that wearing a lion on their breast would protect them from the authorities, but there are no titles in Braavos or nobility, every man and woman is held acountable for their deeds, even when they are bodyguards for an envoy to the Iron Bank."

Arya felt herself grin, "justice for Lannisters?" she asked.

The Sailor's wife nodded, "You hate them too?"

Ayra remembered her identity as Jeyne, and struggled not to bite her lip. "I come from the Riverlands, they killed my family."

"What are you doing in King's Landing?" Arya changed the subject.

"I had no prospects afterwards, the Iron Bank repossessed the land and I was homeless with a daughter to support. Then some man named Kettleblack offered me a job here in Westeros. We got a passage to Maidenpool, where I entered the service of the Brunes."

"Where is your daughter," Arya remembered a girl named Lanna who had seen three and ten namedays.

The Salior's wife looked suspiciously towards the Golden man, whose attention was somewhere else.

"Safe."

* * *

><p><strong>Tyrion<strong>

While Dany held court, Tyrion managed her war effort. Immediately following the Massacre at Riverrun, The Pipers, Vances, and Blackwoods declared for Queen Daenerys, the Mallisters, who participated, declared for Stannis who was currently besieging the Twins.

Devan Lannister was dead. Now there were few members of the once numerous House Lannister, to dispute his claim to Casterly Rock.

If his cousin had not been slaughtered at his own wedding, he would have had to face his distant cousin. He had to feel sorry for Devan Lannister, murdered at his own wedding. The man deserved better than that. He felt more remorse over the death of aunt Genna; he always had good relations with his father's siblings. _How dare Cersei blame me for killing uncle Kevan. _ Tyrion was still unsure if his sister had arranged Kevan's death.

Tyrion had nothing to do with this grusome bit of business, nor did he intend to claiming credit for it. He would have to reward the Blackwoods, the Pipers, and both branches of house Vance sooner rather than later.

Belicho entered his solar and delivered a thin stack of documents. They were reports sent to him by his own spies. The spy network that he had founded after the sack of Volantis was small, but effective. The network was slowly growing, and he was relying on it more and more. Varys was most certainly on Aegon's side, which made it difficult to trust the information on his desk.

Cersei had been given faulty intelligence, by her master of whisperers, Qyburn. Tyrion did not doubt that the spider's web frequently misled Lord Qyburn.

He read the first dispatch; Euron Crow's eye was going to attack Highgarden. It came as no surprise to Tyrion; The Tyrells were skilled opportunists that might as well have taken a weathervane for their sigil.

Now, Mace Tyrell's prodigious appetite for power had casued the Tyrells to overextend themselves. The Hightowers, Tarlys, and Redwynes declared for Aegon. The Rowans who had been commanded to take Storm's End for the glory of the Tyrells turned cloaks much to nobody's surprise. Most recently the Ashfords and Oakhearts joined Aegon.

The queen on the iron throne had reaped some profit from the chaos in the Reach. The houses of Footly, Caswell and the Red Apple Fossoways had declared for Daenerys. Combined they could muster at least 6,000 men.

The Green apple Fossoways were one of the few houses still loyal to the Tyrells, no doubt Garlan Tyrell had managed to mend relations with his in-laws.

The second report showed that Cersei was indeed at Antlers, as she had been for the past fortnight. Her retreat to Harrenhal had been surprisingly slow, partly due to her piteous attempts to gather swords. At this rate, Baelish would reach Harrenhal shortly before her. Tyrion wondered if Littlefinger was going to sell him Cersei. He certainly wasn't going to follow Cersei for long if he knew what was good for him, and he had 20,000 swords to Cersei's 2,000.

The Wedding at Riverrun had left Cersei with no one to run to save Littlefinger. The Freys had lost most of their strength and the Twins were now besieged on both sides of the Blue Fork. The remaining banners of the Riverlands openly defied Cersei. Most of the Westerland forces had not arrived in time for wedding thanks to Cersei's order for Lord Devan to be in Harrenhal before her, and wisely retreated for the Golden Tooth.

Tyrion had been shocked to learn that Jaime was held in Riverrun as a prisoner, but felt relieved to hear of his escape.

He wondered if he was going to meet Jaime when he took an army to the Riverlands. The queen had ordered him to to take a small army to Riverrun after the news of its fall. Daenerys would remain in King's Landing a little while longer before marching her main force to Bitterbridge.

Captain Mantarys entered the Solar, with a knight in tow.

"My lord hand, I bring Ser Bennard Brune at her grace's behest."

Mantarys offered a sealed document which no doubt contained Ser Bennard's orders as well as his.

He opened the document and sure enough Ser Bennard would take the forces of Cracklaw Point with Tyrion.

"How many men have you brought, Ser Bennard?" Whatever the knight was thinking, his face betrayed nothing.

"Three hundred, my lord."

Tyrion continued reading as he spoke with Ser Bennard.

He poured a cup of wine for himself and another for his guest.

"I would ask you to return to Cracklaw Point and gather more swords, but I am afraid we must leave tomorrow for Riverrun."

The third report on his desk announced that Jon Snow had been legitimized by Stannis Baratheon was Jon Targaryen.

Tyrion nearly choked at that. Was the boy that Tyrion met four years ago truly the heir of Stannis. _He was sullen enough to be_. It explained that Jon had proclaimed himself the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It was said that he wore Prince Rhaegar's signet ring, and if that wasn't enough, he carried Rhaegar's infamous weirwood harp with silver strings. If this was true, then the honorable Ned Stark of all people had pulled off one of the greatest deceptions of the last century in fear of Robert Baratheon's fury. _And I thought that Jon Snow had none of his mother's features._

"What do we have for an army?" Ser Bennard asked with curiousity.

Tyrion shifted his focus to the question at hand.

"I will take two hundred of my golden men, with your three hundred. Lords Stokeworth and Sunglass will bring a combined four hundred. I bargained with Daenerys to bring the Second Sons along. She was kind enough to grant me another one hundred under Ser Tumco Lho and Ser Larraq each." _No doubt Ser Barristan's suggestion_, his knights were not only superb fighters, but often seen as loyalty officers_._ Tyrion's own organization was inspired Barristan's knights, but Ser Barristan the Bold surely saw it as a gross perversion of his own training program.

He noticed Ser Bennard grimace in displeasure. Many knights, especially the pious ones frowned on the idea of knighting dark skinned foreingers who did not follow the faith of the Seven. Not even a knighthood from the legendary knight was enough to wash out their intolerence.

"Will it be enough?"

1,500 men would certainly not be enough, with Stannis in the Riverlands, but it was still better than the clansman he came here with though.

"Small and stunted I may be, but my reach is long, and my shadow longer still."

* * *

><p><strong>Asha<strong>

The weather had cleared with the rise of the sun, and the assault was soon to begin.

The Twins even though it stood alone, would be a tough nut to crack. A pair of gates would have to be breached even before reaching the moat that extended from the river.

It did not matter however, the Northmen were chomping at the bit to assualt the walls. Many had lost brothers, fathers or sons within the sight of this ugly grey castle.

The besiegers outnumbered the defenders seven to one, or so Stannis said.

This would be her first battle since Deepwood Motte, Stannis had denied her the opportunity to fight, but his new heir was more accomodating of her wishes.

Jon Snow, or Targaryen as he called himself now, was Stannis Baratheon's heir. She had offered to fight as one of his shields, which he accepted much to her surprise, but only after his great white direwolf smelled her and did not growl. Prince Jon explained that his direwolf could smell hostility or ill intent; _He is eccentric enough to be a Targaryen_.

Some doubted whether or not he was actually a Targaryen. He was definitely a Stark, even more so than young Rickon Stark who Theon did not actually kill. Jon Targaryen or not was the living embodiement of the North. For all the times, someone told her that the North Remembers, whether it was a northern lord or simply the unforgiving land itself, she had expected Robb Stark's cousin to hold her with malice.

Once again, Asha was pleasantly surprised. He told her that he had made a point of not hating someone just because of their blood. At the twins, though his principle was sorely tested.

A warhorn signaled the beginning of the assault. Four sets of ladders went forward, their bearers carefully trudging through the snow. A few score of dauntless souls followed them shorty after, their shields over their heads. As they approached the castle, the ladders on the flanks, veered off to so that the bearers could climb the outer waycastle from the sides.

The sounds of battle were soon to be heard as the first to fight went over the top. The warhorn sounded to signal that they had gained a foothold.

They began to move forward, Jon sounded his horn to signal the advance. They encounted no opposition along the way save a few stray quarrels.

By the time she climbed a ladder, the foothold had grown somewhat. The outermost wall from which they fought, was so small that armored defenders were now being pushed from their positions to the waycastle courtyard below. Soon, the Freys were pushed from the waycastle.

Between the waycastle and the east bastion were two small covered bridges that spanned the moat. The heavy wooden doors that stood between her and the castle were strategically placed half a flight of stairs down from the wall. This prevented the use of any battering ram.

Asha followed Jon as he ordered his way past the armored masses of Baratheons, to reach the heavy doors.

"Liddle, fetch me a keg," Jon barked.

Morgan Liddle came back seconds later with a small barrel that smelled of pitch. He set it down in front of the door, and another man broke the keg open. Jon motioned for everyone to stay back as the man soaked a black cloak in the pitch and smeared it on the door. He pulled out a dagger and used it to stick the cloak to the door, before closing the barrel and moving it from sight. "Botley, the torch," the prince gestered towards Tris.

Tris moved forward and lit the pitch from the fringe of the hung cloak. The flames ate the pitch soaked garment hungrily.

Collectively those around her crouched to avoid the unpleasant fumes of burning pitch that ate away the heavy oak door.

After a time that seemed like hours but could not be longer than half an hour, the door was a charred ruin. A Stormland veteran came forward with a two handed great hammer, and battered the smoking door from its hinges.

A burly northmen was the first to enter the door with a pavise shield, only to find the bridge and its twin to the right empty. The process was repeated on the next door, exept this time, it was done under fire. Before the barrel was put away, she filled an empty flask with the smelly black substance. This time, when the door collapsed, quarrels emerged from every possible angle.

Asha grabbed one of her throwing axes, and was the second person to climb the staircase leading to the gatehouse. The man in front of her was felled by a Frey man at arms holding a longaxe. Before he could continue his charge down the staircase, her sharp little husband cleaved through his mail as if it where soft cheese.

She jerked her axe from the man's chest as he tumbled down the stairs. After climbing a few more steps, half a dozen quarrels flew over her head. _This would be the gatehouse_ Asha realized. Her hand went to the flask on her belt, which she opened and stuffed the opening with a scrap of cloth. A torch was hanging from a sconce on the wall, which someone removed and handed her.

Asha lit the dry cloth and threw the brittle flask into the mist of the enemy. Screams echoed throughout the walls when it burst. Without hesitation, Asha lept to the top of the staircase, and loosed her throwing axe on the nearest target, and lifted her shield in time to intercept a quarrel. A few men moved past her and cleared the gatehouse of Freys.

The battle was far from over, but when the loud sound of the drawbridge coming down on the moat drowned out all sounds of battle and cries of anguish, Asha knew that the battle for the East Keep was won.

**Next up: Davos, Sansa, and Cersei**


	9. Little birds of Harrenhal

**Note: Some of you have been asking about the original version, just so you know, it will be at least a week before the chapter is done, so probably shortly after this posting blitz (the new chapter will be edited for this version too). For those of you who have asked about the differences, this version has more extra scenes, because the average viewer doesn't know much about certain things like the Golden Company, or Bloodraven (yet), as well as a few tweaks to the story that help reconcile it with the show.**

**Flashfoward**

The Quiet Isle was quiet as usual. A sole monk sat on the banks of the river Trident, fishing pole in hand.

He tugged at the line, it had caught a lilipad, but there was something on it. _There's always something floating down the river._ Fishing junk from the river had become one of his favorite pastimes lately. It was rather boring here, now that he had recovered from his wounds. It was a small price to pay for the peace he now knew.

He got a closer look at the lilipad and noticed a blood stained eyepatch.

He heard himself laugh, it was a deep raspy sound. Something bigger than an eyepatch would be needed to cover his face.

**Davos **

The Drawbridge came down and up went two banners from the gatehouse, the Baratheon standard, and Jon Targaryen's own personal banner, a white three headed dragon on black.

Next came the sound of the portcullis being raised.

Stannis would personally lead the charge through the gate. Davos had conselled him against this, but Stannis did not care. _He does not seem to care anymore if he lives or dies_ thought Davos. Stannis had also become insistent lately on leading by example. King Stannis is a Northman now, he reflected.

The cavalry formed up and at the sound of a warhorn, five hundred horsemen, most of them Manderlys, followed the King's banner.

They thundered past the three fallen gates and caught some of the defenders as they fell back to defend the bridge and the East Keep. They were cut down with relative ease, having nowhere to go. The heavy doors to the Keep were shut and barred locking them out of their lord's castle.

_Despicable weasels,_ thought Davos, as he fought his way through the doomed Freys who had been left to die by their overlords.

The cavalry pulled back to the waycastle to avoid the incoming missles and dismounted. As he got off his horse, he noticed a battering ram being brought to across the drawbridge. A squire took the horse, and Lord Seaworth joined the march from behind the ram.

By the time the ram breached the doors to the East Keep, Jon Targaryen and his command had joined them in the courtyard having extinguished all resistance along the inner wall.

Their entrance to the main hall was greeted by a hail of crossbow bolts. One of them hit Stannis, the bolt piercing his shield, and lodging in his side. He went down in a wordless grunt of pain. Davos risked enemy fire to reach the King's side.

The bolt cleaved through his side, and the bleeding was profuse, but it was by no means a fatal injury. Ser Richard Horpe, who carried the King's banner, was felled by another bolt. His helm was pierced, and he was dead before he hit the ground.

Just as Davos and two knights dragged their king to safety, he saw the King's heir, Jon Targaryen, retrieving the fallen banner. As he knelt down towards Stannis, Baratheon troops passed them in an effort to climb the nearby stairwell.

Stannis looked up him. He was grinding his teeth, his way of easing the pain.

"They run your grace."

"Who runs Onion lord?"

"The Freys."

"Where … to their … privys?" Stannis lost consiousness before the question could be answered.

"Your grace," a frantic voice called out.

Davos instinctively felt for a pulse which he found.

"He will come back ser," Davos told the man.

Lord Davos Seaworth had no answer for when Stannis would return however.

**Alayne**

The great ruined citadel of Harrenhal loomed before her. She saw Lanna flinch, at the size of its enormity. Harrenhal was about twice the size of Winterfell.

Her friend Lanna Hill was the same age as she was, and a bastard as well. Sansa decided it was rude to inquire about her parentage, but she was certain that Lanna had a Lannister father. Her long golden hair reminded Sansa very much of Myrcella, and if not for her deep blue eyes and her Braavosi accent, she might have mistaken her for the princess.

After hearing the story of how Lanna lost her home to Lannister men in Braavos, only to get free passage to Maidenpool, Sansa had a feeling that there was more to her than she was seeing.

Young Sansa would have nothing to do with bastards, but as Alayne had come to prefer their company. _Will you feel sympathy for me, Jon, _Sansa wondered. She had heard that Jon had returned from the dead and proclaimed himself the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Sansa would have dismissed it as a mere wishful rumor, but she also remembered the genuine surprise Littlefinger showed for only a moment.

Jon was now besieging the Twins with Stannis Baratheon. She wondered if she would be seeing him soon. _Was he really my cousin all along_, Sansa wondered.

She passed under the gate of Harrenhal which was more like a tunnel given its size. Most of the buildings were in ruin, but Sansa noticed that some of the buildings had recently been rebuilt.

Petyr had mentioned that this place was cursed._ A curse did not keep you from Harrenhal._ Sansa did not want to believe in the curse of Harrenhal, but the fate of Janos Slynt told her that even possessing Harrenhal seemed to mark you for downfall. She had learned that bit of news from Harrion Karstark, who was a prisoner at Maidenpool, he was somewhere in the party.

Littlefinger told her that the only thing preventing the execution of the rightful lord of Karhold was her cousin Jon. He had married Harrion's sister Alys, to a Wildling chief. Should anything happen to Harrion, a wildling would inherit Karhold, against the wishes of the Iron Throne. Sansa admired the cleverness of the move. Harrion Karstark was less then happy that his sister had been given to a wildling, but had told her all the same that the act was almost enough for him to forget his anger towards the Starks. She remembered hearing that his father, Rickard Karstark had been executed by her brother Robb, for killing two young hostages.

They arrived at the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. The man that greeted them would be Ser Bonifer Hasty. His sigil was a white sinister on a purple field. "You have finally come, my lord," he seemed relieved.

"You look as if you had expected someone else" Petyr was probing him, and he took the bait.

"I had thought that the queen would be here first," Ser Bonifer spoke with irritation at the mention of the queen.

_Littlefinger has already seen to that_. The Buckwells of Antlers had been hosting Cersei for nearly a fortnight, and were no doubt eager for a generous donation of foodstuffs to recover their stores.

"Cersei is out gathering swords for her cause in the Crownlands, but she should be here tomorrow if my scouts are correct."

"Will you allow her to profane this place with the presence of that necromancer and his abomination?"

"It's not as if I serve a reasonable, pious queen."

And just like that, Ser Bonnifer was a supporter of the Mockingbird.

A member of Ser Bonifer's holy hundred escorted Alayne to her quarters before she could hear the rest. Littlefinger had told her that Ser Bonifer's men were so pious, that they gelded their horses as well. She found herself wondering if Littlefinger was japing.

This time got she her own quarters, as there were plenty of rooms in Harrenhal. Just the Kingspyre tower seemed big enough to hold half of the Vale's forces.

Sansa took a brief nap, which was interrepted by the knocking on her chamber door. A voice behind the door informed her that Petyr wanted to see her in his solar.

When she entered the solar, Lord Baelish bid her to have a seat. She did as she was bid, and Littlefinger's face broke into a smile. This one seemed to reach his eyes.

"Our wonderful Cersei is full of surprises; guess what she gave me this time as a reward for my leal service to King Tommen?"

Littlefinger loved to play these guessing games.

"The hand of the king," she asked.

He laughed, "not yet, but soon I suppose, it's a rather cursed position I'm afraid." _Only because of people like you_, Sansa thought.

"Her hand in marriage?" She wanted to see his reaction.

"No, the queen will never wed of her free will. She loves her children. She would only be willing to marry if her life or Tommen's life was threatened."

Alayne never took Littlefinger's suggestions or even outright assurances as a guarantee. He had told Sansa once that Widowhood would become her. Now, Tyrion was back and stronger than ever. From what she heard, the only thing that she seemed widowed of was his soul.

Littlefinger had told her that Sweetrobin's health would fail, but he was still alive. _But I knew what you meant, my lord._

He had promised her that she would marry Harrold Hardying, and see the Vale's armies reclaim Winterfell. Now they would have to step over the bodies of Jon and Rickon to get it. She didn't want to marry Harry, no more than she wanted to be wed for her claim.

Still, Littlefinger's suggestion unsettled her.

He handed her the parchment that he was was holding.

_By decree of King Tommen Baratheon, I hearby legitize the natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish, as Alayne Baelish._

"Alayne Baelish, my dutiful legitimized daugther," He spoke, as if he read her thoughts,

Alayne could feel the goosebumps on her skin as he spoke.

"The hair dye is running out," he reached out to touch a strand of her still Charcoal Black hair, "Your Auburn roots are beginning to show, Sweetling." She was not sure what to make of the expression in his eys. "I suppose that I will have to tell Cersei that your mother looked suspiciously like a Tully."

Sansa felt herself squirm at the statement, but she could not say exactly why.

"That's worth a few kisses right there.

**Cersei **

Baelish had arrived in Harrenhal first, only hours ago. Banners topped the battlements over the gates, but the standard of Baratheon of King's Landing topped them all.

_Tommen will have friends here_, Cersei felt reassured.

The lords of the crownlands had been more hospitible than she dared hope. Well, most of them were. She spent a fortnight at Antlers, where the hosts were most generous to her.

Littlefinger was the only friend she had to run to now. After receiving word of the Devan Lannister's death at the hands of outlaws, she hurried to Harrenhal. How could he have allowed himself to die in Riverrun at his own wedding at the hands of outlaws? Although she had yet to hear the full details, she was certain that the riverlords had a part in the death of two family members, and an in-law.

Now it was even more important to ensure to support of Baelish. She had heard that Littlefinger had a bastard daughter, and offered to legitimize her as a token of gratitude for his leal service to Tommen.

_He was more loyal to me than Jaime was_, Cersei thought. She knew that Jaime was still alive, but did not know what had happened to him or that wretched old cow from Tarth.

Just outside of the gates, Littlefinger came out to greet her, with a small bodyguard, and a few lords of the Vale.

"Your grace, Harrenhal is yours," Littlefinger's voice was reassuring.

She led her army through the gates of Harrenhal, as she glanced at all the ruins, she could not help but wonder why father chose to stay in this miserable pile of stones for so long.

She could not help notice the wary eyes that followed her as she made her way to the central courtyard, but Cersei knew that most of them were really following Ser Robert Strong.

"Lord Baelish do you accept my offer to legitimize your natural daughter?" Petyr Baelish gave at her a look of glee that she found slightly creepy.

"I'm very happy to accept, you have my gratitude, and that of my daughter." His smile cut like a dagger. "She would very much like to thank you in person, now that she can have a suitable husband."

_That would be nice_, thought Cersei.

They arrived in the central courtyard of Harrenhal, and Littlefinger began barking orders to find quarters and food for her men.

"Lanna, show her grace to her quarters."

The girl helped her dismount, and gave her horse to an idle squire. Then she got a good look at Lanna. Cersei could not help but stare, at the girl. Her face and her golden hair marked her for a Lannister, but her demeanor immediately marked her as a bastard.

She looked towards the ground, "come with me your grace." Cersei noted the foreign accent in her voice.

Cersei followed Lanna; Ser Robert Strong would be needed to escort Tommen to his chambers. After entering the Kingspyre tower, she looked at Lanna again, and noticed deep blue eyes in place of the emerald green eyes that most Lannisters had including herself.

Cersei felt sour at the sight of those eyes. Who was her mother, who was her father? Did Jaime father a bastard? Her blood ran cold at the thought of her other half putting his cock in another woman. The girl actually looked a little like Myrcella, which made her angrier still.

The girl sensed her tension, "Is there a problem your grace?"

"No," Cersei lied cautiously; they had already ascended two flights of stairs. Two of her guards were halfway up the stairs and a few more armored men, were lagging behind. She was not as concerned right now about her personal security; Harrenhal was much safer than King's Landing.

"It's just that you look like my own daughter, who where your parents?"

The bastard flinched; _at least bastards know how to fear their betters,_ Cersei decided.

"My mother was a whore, and I don't know who my father was."

That was odd, Jaime never whored.

"Did your mother ever talk about him?"

Lanna showed the appropriate signs of discomfort, "she grew up in Lannisport, and left before I was born. Do you think we are related, your grace."

_Gods, I hope not_, Cersei felt herself rage at the thought of Jaime. Outwardly, she remained calm. "Was he a tall, handsome man with golden hair and green eyes?" Cersei realized she was spitting out every word.

"I don't think so, your grace. Mother said he was a short man with different eyes."

Cersei thought she was lying, and then it hit her, _Tyrion._

Before she could say anything, Lanna opened the door to her cavernous chambers. Cersei turned towards the nearest guard, "And show Lanna to her chambers, a dungeon cell." Tyrion had murdered Joffrey; it was only fair that he lose a daughter. She would have to make sure he knew of his daughter's existence before giving her to Qyburn.

She heard the girl screaming as the guardsmen took her away. Maybe a raping would also happen for good measure.

A servant came with food and wine for her. Thankfully this one looked less like a Lannister, and more like a simple farm girl. Cersei sipped a precious cup of Arbor Gold, and then changed out of her riding clothes. She replaced it for something more regal looking that would hold her beatiful figure together. She hated to admit it, but she had gained half a stone in weight following her father's death. I must still look beautiful, she reflected.

A knock on door announced the arrival of Lord Petyr's natural daughter. She bid her to enter the solar. The man entered first, she recognized him as Ser Lothar Brune, who was known as the apple-eater, for his herioc actions against the Fossoways during the battle of Blackwater bay. Lothar was a black goat in his family thankfully, because they had declared for Tyrion and his Targaryen queen.

Then she saw the girl come in.

"You!" Cersei screamed in fury.

Sansa Stark paled at the sound of her voice but quickly recovered herself.

"My name is Alayne Baelish, if it pleases your grace." The girl pretended not to understand that she should be begging for the stranger's mercy right now.

She had changed much since her disapearance, her womanly form had grown out and she looked to be nearly five and ten. Her hair was dyed black, but her Auburn roots were showing.

"It does not please me. You killed Joffrey, you murderous little bitch!"

She flinched, but not as much this time. Then a moment later, the little bitch actually smiled. "Yes, I smuggled the poison to his wedding. Lord Baelish and the Tyrells did all the rest."

Cersei suddenly realized that she had been invited here on false pretenses, Littlefinger would pay for this.

She leaned forward. "Before I am done with you, I will have you singing to the stranger begging for his kiss, little dove!" She spat the words out with as much anger as she could muster.

_It's not working_ Cersei realized, this time Sansa did not even seem fazed. "Don't call me that, I am nobody's little bird." The soft tone by which Sansa spoke served to irritate Cersei even more.

"Yes you are. You are Littlefinger's little bird. Tell me, has he fucked you yet, he put his littlefinger in both your mother and your aunt after all?"

She bristled at the question, and her mask of mocking courtesy was dropped. "You have nothing to threaten me with; the men down there belong to Lord Baelish, not you!"

"My … father is about to get married … again." She could actually see Littlefinger in the smirk on Sansa's face, the one that knew some ugly secret.

Sansa motioned to Lothar Brune, who produced a crimson cloak, _a maiden's cloak._ Cersei sensed the danger, but was still unsure as to where this was going.

"Do you remember this, your grace? This is the cloak my lord husband put on me, somebody was kind enough to bring it here for you." She paused and looked down. "Are you afraid of me?" Sansa was laughing but she was clearly nervous, "I thought lions were brave."

Cersei became conscious of the small knife in her shaking hand, and lunged at Sansa. She was seized by Lothar Brune, who wrested the knife from her hand and forced her to her knees. The sound of more footsteps reverberated through her solar.

She felt the cold grasp of iron manacles being placed around her arms.

**Note: ugh, my head hurts from writing Cersei. **

**up next: Jon, Daenerys and Jon Con.**

**Out of curiousity, what meeting, reunion or clash are you currently anticipating for this story?**


	10. The Blacks, the Whites, and the Greens

**Note: Now that I set up the story and got the ball rolling, the timeline of this story is going to slow down a little bit. **

**Flashback**

He smiled as she nursed the babe in her arms.

"Aegon" he said aloud, "what better name for a king, than Aegon."

"Will you make a song for him," his loving wife asked.

He plucked his weirwood harp with silver strings, "He already has a song, for he is the Prince who was promised."

He paused, he was fond of his wife, but she was not healthy enough to bear another child, and he needed one more for the prophecy, that was his destiny.

He already felt the pain of his next words even as they left his mouth, still the dragon did not regret. "but, there must be one more, the dragon has three heads."

* * *

><p><strong>Jon<strong>

The King's banner was hoisted over the keep that was once the seat of Walder Frey.

As he looked down at the river, Jon actually found himself wishing that he could see them all again, Uncle Eddard, Robb, Bran, Sansa, and Arya. Especially Arya, she may be his cousin, but she would always be little sister to him. Right now, he would have given anything for a chance to muss her unkempt hair. He even missed Lady Catelyn; he would have loved to see the shock of her learning his true parentage.

It turned out that Walder Frey had died only hours earlier of supposedly natural causes. Edwyn Frey had become the new lord of the Twins. Although alive and captured, the newly made lord of the crossing had been severly wounded in the battle for the main keep. He had tried to fight to the death, but a Manderly knight had successfully taken him alive. Jon was not sure if he would survive a fortnight. If he died now, his half brother, another Walder Frey, known as Black Walder, would become the lord of the remaining Twin, which had yet to be assaulted.

King Stannis had been severly wounded upon entering this very keep where Robb was murdered. Until Stannis completed his recovery, Prince Jon Targaryen, was officially the Lord Protector of the realm. The title had a strange ring to it, for someone who had been called bastard all his life.

He would hold the title, for some time he knew. It would take a while for Stannis to heal, and there was a chance that his wounds would fester. The bolt that wounded him had been smeared in nightsoil. _Honorless to the end_, Jon reflected.

"You look deep in thought lad," Tomund came up beside him. Even if Stannis died and Jon became king, he was still "lad" to Tormund. Honestly, Jon felt it refreshing.

"It's just that I lost kin here, their corpses were thrown into that river after their murders."

"But you brought justice to their murderers."

"Aye, but it didn't bring them back."

Tormund had nothing to say about that. The free folk lived for revenge, and like Northmen, they took blood feuds seriously.

"But you made your family proud," Asha Greyjoy announced her presence as usual, without ceremony.

Asha's personality reminded Jon very much of Arya, so much that it hurt. It was strange to think that she was seven namedays older than he was. Fiercely independent, beautiful and a skilled warrior, Arya would have idolized her.

In some ways, however she reminded him of Theon. Whenever she smirked, he could almost see her older brother, which still made his blood run cold. Even though Theon was innocent of killing Bran and Rickon, he still felt that he deserved his execution. Still, he was not going to say this to Asha. She had also lost most of her family, and Jon could understand that.

Despite the bad blood between the wolf and the Kracken, Asha was aggressively trying to court his favor. He had much respect for her, but he was not entirely sure what she wanted.

Freedom was something she wanted for sure, she had spent much of her time in captivity, wearing irons before the battle of Winterfell.

A better marriage perhaps, ever since becoming the heir to Stannis Baratheon, he had received half a dozen marriage offers that would have once been out of reach for someone born on the wrong side of the blanket. Small chance of that however, Asha had already been promised to Ser Justin Massey, the knight of Stonedance.

Stannis had told him before the siege that he would marry once the Twins fell. The irony was nothing short of tragic. They had not yet agreed on who Jon should wed. If he could choose Jon decided, it would have to be Val. Val had followed his army and had always been there for him, in his darkest times since Stannis arrived at the wall. Stannis had originally wanted Jon to marry Val but was hesitant about the reaction of his northern bannerman.

Jon would cross that bridge however, when he came to it.

* * *

><p><strong>Daenerys<strong>

She was expected to see off lord Tyrion. His small army would depart for Riverrun today, where he would marshall her loyalists in the Riverlands before pressing his claim on the west.

He would leave with some 1,500 men. Tyrion had demanded more men, due to the presence of the usurper's brother, who had some 15,000 men. His sister would soon have 25,000 men, at her command, but Tyrion did not believe that. The dwarf had faced tough odds, and was the only person she knew that had a chance against such numbers without the benefit of dragons.

Dany needed as many men as she could muster, for her own march to Bitterbridge. She would leave in a fortnight with an estimated 30,000 troops that would have to contend with at least 40,000 from her so-called nephew.

Truthfully, she could not trust him with a large army either, but he could raise his own massive armies, which might be able to match her enemies in the Riverlands. The lords of the Riverlands and the West were greatly dissatisfied with the rule of the Usurper's queen, and would be easily convinced to follow her instead. Lord Tyrion would certainly need to coerce them somewhat, which was something she did not want to think about. She made sure, that he would be leaving the city with his own monsters.

His own personal bodyguard had such a reputation, that they threatened to overshadow that of Ser Barristan's knights. Few if any of them had knighthoods, but they were no less dangerous. They were however, about as morally flexible as Daario was.

She recalled the battle on the Stepstones, where she saw "The lord of the waters" defeated. Although her fleet outmatched his, the Kracken infested waters terrified many. During the battle, commanders who allowed their cowardice to get the best of them were executed on the spot, regardless of birth, before she could even intervene. Afterwards Tyrion told her that they refused direct orders from him, and had to be punished. The bulk of her forces were undisciplined, and she could not restrain him for fear of her armies faltering in the heat of battle.

In the Reach, there were three factions. There were her loyalists, who could be found between Tumbleton and Bitterbridge. Aegon's loyalists, held the southern half of the Reach. Finally there were the Tyrells, and a hand of bannermen, who still stood by their liege lords.

The Tyrells who owed their status as lord paramounts of the Reach to Aegon the Conqueror were so far sitting out the conflict. Their refusal to take a side had resulted in the loss of most of their bannermen. The rose had allowed itself to grow too large and now had to be pruned. Loras Tyrell was still a hostage, for their good behavior, but Margaery Tyrell, the only daugther of Mace Tyrell and a so-called queen, was a hostage of the Lannister queen.

Grandmaester Gormon, who had been born a Tyrell, had been recalled to the citadel shortly before Oldtown declared for Aegon. Following their treason, she had declared Archmaester Marwyn her Grandmaester in defiance. She knew that Marwyn was a dangerous man in his own right, and she was certain that he was the maester who had taught Mirri Maz Dur her dark magic. She trusted him not, but his knowledge was quite useful.

In the courtyard before the gate, Tyrion approached her, his short body swaying with every step. "We ride for the Riverlands, your grace. Do you have any more men to give?"

Dany contemplated that for a moment, but she had already thought about it as his army formed up. "Could you escort two-hundred men to garrison Stoney Sept?" She decided that she wanted to hold the sight of one of the usurper's victories.

"Of course, your grace." Tyrion replied. She knew he wanted more, but he was still greatful for every man she had to give and would prefer a local base of operations that he would not have to maintain.

"Ser Barristan, write an order for Ser Larraq to take two hundred men and follow Lord Tyrion." They would be ready within a few hours, and would have to trail Tyrion's army to the Stoney Sept. These men were not Tyrion's, but he would appreciate them all the same.

When the time was right, she would award the town to one of her loyal, but landless bannermen. She had not given many rewards yet in terms of land. Tyrion believed that once Cersei reached Harrenhal, that many would forsake her and pledge their swords to her, the one true queen.

Dany was wary of Tyrion's certainty, especially when he seemed to understand something that she did not.

As Moqorro had told her, it was time for the dragons to dance, red and black, true and false, young and old.

* * *

><p><strong>The Griffin<strong>

The Wind was harsh today, cold enough that one might forget the warm evening sun over Oldtown and its Hightower.

Tomorrow they would leave Oldtown with the rising sun and take the Rose road. The road would lead to King's Landing, but first, it would pass through Highgarden.

The Tyrells were forced to stay neutral, with a son held hostage by Queen Daenerys, and a daughter by the Usurper's queen. Had this not been the case, they would have joined Aegon's cause in the same way a weathervane changes direction. They were opportunists who wanted power, but they lacked the audacity that fortune either smiles on or laughs at. When Robert fled for the relative safety of the Riverlands, the Tyrells laid a half-hearted siege to Storm's End.

Needless to say, it was time for a new Lord Paramount of the Reach. Mace Tyrell could not be Aegon's Warden of the South. His sons, Willas and Garlan on the other hand, were well respected in the Reach. _Yes_, he thought to himself, the Tyrells could keep their status as Lords Paramount of the Reach, If Mace Tyrell agreed to relinquish his titles and take the black.

The Night's Watch was in particularly serious need of men, if Lord Tarly's son was to be believed. Jon did not believe the tales about the return of the Others, but the fear of them was real enough. Had Stannis Baratheon not gone to the wall, the North would have been overrun with wildlings.

Samwell Tarly, the maester in training, had told him that Stannis had decided to save the realm. The acolyte as craven as he considered himself to be, actually had the nerve to say that he was very much like Stannis. _By Gods,_ the thought pissed still pissed him off.

Even if he did not want to believe it, the young man had nerve. He was surprised to learn that Samwell Tarly would accompany them to the North. Forging his chain would take a few more years, and the wall could not wait at the present, though he promised to someday return. In the meantime, he would be leading a party to the wall that would double the strengh of the Night's Watch whatever it currently was, maybe even triple it. Most of the men were Ironborn captives were to be given to the noose, which was the good and proper fate of an ironborn pirate. Instead, Samwell Tarly had pleaded for men to man the wall. Much to everyone's surprise, his father, Lord Randyll Tarly had strongly supported the idea.

Clearly news had reached his ear about Jon Snow, Aegon's supposed half-brother and the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. _Damn it Rhaegar, what in seven hells were you thinking._ He still felt the shock from the raven which brought the news from Goldengrove.

Ned Stark had raised Rhaegar's bastard as his own. _A son named Jon,_ as angry as the revelation had made him; he felt a strange sense of pride. He also felt a grudging respect towards Ned Stark for raising the kid as his own with no one, not the Usurper, not his wife, not even the damned Spider the wiser.

As if the thought of the Spider was enough to summon him, he suddenly became conscious of the smell of perfume. He turned, and sure enough it was Varys.

"My lord hand," the eunuch contemplated him for a second. "You were so deep in thought, that I feared you had turned to stone." He tittered.

Griff felt his greyscale infected fingers curl up into a fist at the remark. His right hand was still gloved thankfully, even in private. Before he actually became a stone man, he would personally strangle the eunuch with his infected hand. First however, he had a war to win.

"Why are you here, Varys?"

"I wanted to see the new king of Westeros."

"No Varys, why are you in my chambers?"

"I wanted to see his hand." The innocent tone gave no indication of Griff's greyscale.

_Damn you and your double tongue, you simpering spider. Out with it already._

"My little birds have been singing some interesting songs as of late."

"Such as?" Jon Connigton lacked the patience for Lord Varys and his mummer's show.

"Let's see, in the Reach, Euron Crow's Eye is about three days from Highgarden."

"Why should I care about the Tyrells?"

"Because the Tyrells are still the wealthiest house in the Reach, and soon lady Margaery will be free of Cersei Lannister's insanity." Varys spoke as if he were talking to a small child. "It will be even easier, rescuing Loras Tyrell, who is being moved to King's Landing, but enough of the Tyrells and the Reach. The best songs came from the Riverlands." Varys continued, "Lord Baelish is coming to Harrenhal with his queen, for the pretense of a wedding, his natural daughter's perhaps, or maybe someone else. I would rather not see a wedding in that part of Westeros, especially after what happened in Riverrun."

He paused, clearly building up to the best part. "And of course, it would seem that Aegon has a younger half-brother."

"Old news Varys, where is he?"

"Besieging the Twins, did you hear that he is the heir to Stannis Baratheon?"

He had heard that rumor, still could not believe it. The idea of the Stag and the Dragon making common cause seemed absurd, almost as absurd as the heir of house Baratheon being Rhaegar's bastard.

Tell me Varys, "Did you know about that one?"

Jon Connington felt a thrill of exitement as the eunuch's smile tried not to wither.

**Next Up: Samwell, Arya,and Melisandre**

**BTW: thanks for all the helpful reviews**


	11. Black Crows and White Ravens

**Flashback**

The vault was surprisingly easy to enter, the city was under siege and the Citadel thought they had greater things to worry about than a locked chamber full of books that few knew about.

He knew that they were wrong. _A man has something to hide,_ the Alchemist thought to himself with a grin. _But a man does not know its value._ The citadel was becoming careless as of late.

For the third consecutive night, he had been in the vault. The inventory was regularly checked, even though it was poorly guarded. He would be here for a while, so he read the books and copied them, he would translate them later, of course. On his last night here, maybe he would steal a few books, and disappear before the inventory was checked.

Currently he was halfway finished writing a copy of a book known as _the_ _fall of dragons_, he had been told that any books pertaining to the subject of dragons were his priority, but there was so much more in the realm of forbidden knowledge to discover. He would find the secrets that he had been tasked to find, and then some.

The grey sheep, as some called them, had secrets to hide.

* * *

><p><strong>Melisandre<strong>

The flames on the candles and the hearth were flickering with the usual music. Melisandre had to get the wood for the fire herself now, most of Stannis Baratheon's retainers went south with Jon Snow including Devan Seaworth, who was probably squiring for Stannis once more. The wall was no longer a safe place to be.

Jon Snow had marched south with several thousand men. She hated to admit it, but there was no denying the destiny that the lord of light had set before him. He was Azor Ahai reborn.

She turned to face the fire in the hearth before opening her eyes. The visions came. She saw other visions of a lion fighting another lion. She saw a strong giant fighting a hound amidst the shadow of a great black bat. In their wreckage a lion and a wolf were snarling at one another and looking for weakness. Other visions showed a bloodied rose washing out to sea, and everywhere she could see eyes. The eyes of the great Other, though she could not actually see them, she could always feel its presence. She saw a frigid ocean giving up its dead, amid a winter gale, and one more vision of a wounded crow coming home to rest. The last vision would often be the most immediate, to happen. She turned her gaze towards the South Gate at Castle Black. The castle was now fortified with wooden palisades.

Tensions between the free-folk and the remaining members of the Night's Watch were still thick. Food supplies heading in the direction of Mole's Town had been completely cut off. Not too long a large horde of free-folk tried to storm Castle Black and plunder the food stores. They were thrown back, but the casualties were high on both sides. In the aftermath of the riots, the castle garrison of Long Barrow mutinied with their officers who were loyalists of Jon Snow.

There was no word from the Shadow Tower, for nearly a fortnight. She had already seen its fall in the fires. Bowen Marsh was just as stubborn in his refusal to do anything as Jon Snow was to do too much. Many believed that the Weeper's battle-hardened warband had overwhelmed the garrison, which now numbered less than a hundred men. The few that ventured that far west from the Nightfort had yet to return.

The Night's Watch had no chance of holding back the Great Other in their current state. They were weak from infighting, which had reduced their numbers to some greatly. There was no official lord commander of the night's watch since Jon Snow left the wall, Bowen Marsh was the castellan but refused to call elections, for fear of the tensions that went on with the remaining members of the Night's Watch. Everyone knew that he would win, so really there was no point in opening the wounds of the Watch.

Their numbers were dwindling; many wildlings were discharged from the watch. Bowen Marsh and his followers did not consider the free-folk worthy to take the black and were more concerned with preserving precious food supplies. Desertion was also common; many were losing faith in the security of the wall. Wildling bands now roamed much of the North with many a former black brother to be found.

She saw a man limping through the gates. The red preistess recognized the man as Alliser Thorne. Soon Bowen Marsh came out to greet him.

"We thought we had lost you Ser Alliser, how did you get here?"

"Fuck you." Melisandre heard the angry gruff voice of Alliser Thorne. He punched the castellan in the face. A man tried to pull the angry knight away, but was thrown to the hard packed snow.

"You sealed the gate, before I could return. But, there was a special door by the Nightfort for any brothers that can't climb the wall."

"Where's your command?" Melisandre knew that two men had accompanied Ser Alliser on his ranging.

"Dead," was his reply, "they were good men who managed to get me here even in death."

His tone was respectful when speaking of his fallen brothers but everyone knew what he meant. Cannibalism had become widespread in Mole's Town, and it was no surprise that a ranger cut off from supplies would eat his already dead brothers. Her followers were strong here at Castle Black; but the followers of demons and trees resisted the influence of Rhllor. Anybody who would dare commit such acts against a man's flesh should have been given to the Lord of Light.

"You are a man of the Night's Watch; we are not that desperate for food." The old Pomegrante spoke as if Thorne was a wildling.

"Are we not," Thorne was exasperated and grabbed the castellan by his thick furs. "The Night's Watch is a ruin you fool, with many thanks to you. How many brothers do you think will still be alive in a moon's turn?"

"Everything I've done, I've done for the watch."

"Like murdering your lord commander?"

"He wanted to fight a war south of the gift.

"It was still murder. I hated him, but even the bastard could not have fucked up the watch this bad."

A steward entered the yard and cried out for all men to hear "Eastwatch is under attack from the sea!"

_The sea has given up its dead_.

* * *

><p><strong>Arya<strong>

Today, Arya felt almost as if she were she were nine years old. The last time she passed through this gate, her father had been executed; she still remembered the sweltering heat of that day. She had evaded the attention of the Lannisters dressed as a skinny orphan boy heading for the wall.

This time there was no need to pretend that she was a boy. Things were different this time; she was riding with a small army to the Riverlands under the leadership of a Lannister rather than fleeing from one. The snow by the wayside of the Kingsroad went up to her horse's calves.

Arya shuddered to imagine how cold it must have been at the Wall. She had heard about Jon's murder at the hands of his own "brothers." It was said that the red witch who rode with Stannis had brought him back. _The kiss of life_, Thoros had called it. Jon was now attacking the Twins where they killed Robb and mother. For the first time in a long time, Arya realized that she might actually get to see him soon.

She was still Jeyne Rivers to her comrades. A bastard of Tully blood she had decided, in honor of her mother's house. _I'm almost like Jon_, she thought to herself. Arya had no intention of using her real identity while under the command of a Lannister. It was known that the imp had married Sansa, but her good-brother did not strike her as the family type.

He was even more hideous than she remembered. A great scar covered much of his face, it was rumored that the scar was the result of an unsuccessful attempt on his life by Queen Cersei. He was missing a few teeth, which had long since been replaced with ivory.

As ugly and as feared as he was, the Halfman as many took to calling him was worshiped by his men. Arya could see why, he had a rough charm that appealed to the soldiers, and always made sure that they were well supplied.

That evening when they set up camp along the Blackwater Rush, she could not help but notice how organized the camp was. Water was drawn up the river from the latrines, and tents were set up in orderly rows.

Food was somewhat hard to come by in Westeros, but when suppertime came, she was served the best food that she had eaten since leaving Braavos. That was partly due to her job. Arya had a good understanding of medicine and surgery, and was the quickest person in her company with a blade, which made her a squire for Ser Tumcho. At the age of twelve; she was old enough to be a squire. A girl squiring for a knight, was not something unheard of under the banners of The Dragon Queen. Not even her supposed bastardy was a big deal, in an army that valued one's own merit over their birth.

She had easily beaten a dozen boys her age and one other girl for the right to squire. With the position, came a good horse, good clothing, and better food. For Arya, this was the life.

* * *

><p><strong>Samwell<strong>

Tomorrow would be a big day. He was going to leave Oldtown for the wall and certain danger. He almost felt himself shiver at the prospect of leaving reasonably warm Oldtown.

Circumstances at the wall meant that he would have to return sooner than later. He already feared the moment when he would tell Jon Snow that he had yet to complete his maester's chain.

He would understand, Sam decided. He would be bringing a needed men and supplies to the wall. The wall was greatly undermaned; he was hearing more tales of mass desertions from his brothers and bands of wildling brigands roaming the North.

At the last word, Jon was in the Riverlands beseiging the Twins. He had been murdered by his brothers. Samwell Tarly remembered how he felt when he first heard the news. For the first time in his memory, he was well and truly pissed that a brother would murder his friend and lord commander. He was not surprised that the red woman was able to return him from life. Many would dismiss the story as a silly rumor, but all pupils of archmaester Marwyn knew about the abilities of an accomplished red priest, which included the kiss of life.

He would lead nearly three hundred men, most of them Ironborn, to follow Aegon's army north. Food was plentiful in the Reach, and many lords had been generous in their charity of it. Many of the armaments that would leave Oldtown for the wall had been plundered from the Ironmen. He had searched the old store rooms on the Isle of Ravens, after his recovery and was delighted to discover three forgotten crates of dragonglass weaponry among many ancient neglected treasures.

Before going to bed, he decided to have a look at the glass candle. He was going to miss this thing. Looking through it, he felt like a wizard. He decided to cast its eye on his pupils. He could see Lazy Leo, who was currently getting Shite faced drunk at the Quill and Tankard, with Mollander and Pate. Sam did not care for the particularly potent cider that originated from the place.

_Funny_, he thought. Alleras was not around, nor was Pate. He willed the candle to find their chambers. It was a good thing that were no girl maester's, otherwise Sam would have turned beet red at the idea of peeping on unsuspecting girls through the candle. He started with Alleras, he was gone. He then decided to spy on Pate's chamber. It too was empty. Before Samwell turned the glass candle to other curiousities that he would get to enjoy, he noticed a book protruding from a small chest. _That's strange_, he never considered Pate much of a reader.

He decided that he wanted to see what kind of books Pate read. Sam felt a queer exitement at the prospect of entering Pate's chamber unnoticed. _What if he finds out that I was here,_ Samwell worried for a moment? It was his last night in Oldtown for a while, so it didn't really matter. Besides, Pate was too dumb to forge even a single link on his chain. It was a wonder that Pate had not been booted from the Citadel, especially since he was leaving midday tomorrow for the wall.

Sam opened the door quietly, and took a look at the book. It was a rough handwritten copy of the _Fall of Dragons_. The book felt cold in his hands, it was the type of book that would only be found in the Citadel Vault.

The Citadel had always kept a wary eye on Marwyn's pupils. They had not been watched as often however, since the siege of Oldtown began. The Citadel Vault was one such subject that nobody talked about for fear of scrutiny from the archmaesters.

Although the Hightowers were always strong supporters of the Targaryens, it was said only in whispers that the maesters had been plotting for years to destroy the Targaryens since the Dance of Dragons.

He flipped through the pages of the book, whose original no doubt resided under lock and key. The candle in his left hand was starting to shake.

Sam was a fast reader but he could feel his mind slowing as he tried to take in the information.

He could scarcely conceal his shock at the account of how the last living dragon had been poisoned overtime, by the maester who had been charged with his care.

_With the death of dragons, the Targaryens were no longer above the laws of gods and men._ The story did not end there, many years afterward, following the Second Blackfyre rebellion, an attempt to inflict the grey plague on the numerous Targaryens, was undertaken. The attempt failed, and resulted in the death of half of Oldtown, and three-quarters of the Citadel which must have the the epicenter of the epidemic. Sam felt cold at the thought, it fit perfectly.

Maester Aemon had been in Oldtown at the time, and was probably paid a visit by a family member. Most likely it was his father, Maekar. Maekar was king at the time, he remembered. He was not a popular ruler, in fact, many in the Reach still despised his legacy, he knew. He often pictured King Maekar as his father, with more hair.

He felt anger at the notion of the the Citadel trying to silence Aemon. Sam remembered what Marwyn had said to him about Aemon, "the grey sheep would have poisoned him if he had lived to see Oldtown again." _Did he know about this_, he wondered.

saw schemes and carefully arranged alliances that took years to cultivate and come to fruition detailed on the pages. Only eighteen years ago, an alliance of such strength had unseated House Targaryen. But it was all about Starks, wasn't it. No, it could not have been, Samwell Tarly decided. His father once commented that when people are ready for war, reasons don't matter. And so it was, too many lords were dissatisfied with the reign of Aerys II, and they were chomping at the bit to get rid of him.

He put the book back carefully; he did not want "Pate" to discover his presence.

He looked at other books, in the chest; he saw another crudely copied book title, _The Prince who was Promised. _He knew that he should leave, but his curiousity got the best of him. Samwell wanted to know what truths Maester Aemon was hoping to find.

"Slayer, what are you doing in here?"

Sam jumped at the sound and choked back a gasp.

He breathed a sigh of relief, when he turned around and saw Alleras.

"How did you find me?" Samwell had not expected to see his half-Dornish friend.

"the glass candle, Pate's up to something."

He could almost laugh, "Pate found some good books."

Alleras frowned, "put it back, Pate is coming"

The book was carefully put in its original position, then picked up his candle and took care to wipe up any melted candlewax that had spilled.

He felt giddy as he left the room and Pate's secret. They had climbed not one flight of stairs before Pate passed them, Sam noticed a particularly large rectangular bulge in the man's pack.

**Next up: Cersei, Brienne, and Jaime.**

**seriously people, we need more Samwell stories (ones that involve Oldtown).**


	12. Parentage

**Flashforward**

The surroundings became a blur and time went from seconds to hours. The now dented helm hit the nearby stone with a clang. All was lost. Death was coming, and with it one last failure.

As if to answer those thoughts, a stranger came forth to finish the work of another. _Or was it the Stranger himself?_ An aura of terror and fury radiated from the man in rough brown wool. But the stranger did not close the distance, and instead calmly bent down to pick up the helm by its snout.

* * *

><p><strong>Cersei <strong>

She was dragged down the Kingspyre Tower kicking and screaming. She had to get free, and find Tommen. Ser Robert Strong would be guarding him. Once she was able to give a direct order to Ser Robert, he would help her and Tommen fight their way out. The only problem was that Ser Robert would not lift a finger until she gave him an order, and first she would have to find him. Of course he was not much different from Ser Boros or Ser Meryn in that matter, wherever they were.

He was strong and followed her orders without question, _unlike many simpering fools._ Ser Robert Strong was just not human, he was not very smart. Then again, maybe he was Gregor Clegane come again, after all.

A handsome man with the look of a sellsword and auburn hair and an irritating cocksure demeanor taunted her, "don't worry your son won't be around for the wedding." He looked at her slyly, "or the bedding."

Her world had been turned upside down, everybody had betrayed her. Cersei was still not sure if she was being marched to her own wedding or her execution. Many of those she saw wanted her dead she knew.

Cersei knew that she had been played; Littlefinger was more ambitious than she could ever have imagined. Being the Lord Protector of the Vale was just not enough, he had to be king of Westeros.

She was furious at the idea of wedding again, but she was also fearful. If Littlefinger got a child on her, then he would kill Tommen without hesitation, and soon he would no longer need her.

And he was rubbing salt in her wounds, it was clear that her captives answered to Sansa Stark, no Lannister. The irony of becoming Sansa's captive almost made her laugh.

A handsome, burly knight with a device of checkered red on white passed met them at the foot of the tower. He gave a generous bow towards Sansa, "my lady, who is to give her away?"

The casual insolence of his tone angered her, how he spoke of her as just a mere brood mare and not the queen regent.

But Sansa only smiled, "I fear we will need at least two people good ser, ideally family members."

Cersei knew his type; the young knight had an aura about him that reminded her of young Robert. The knight turned took a brief moment to leer at her before returning his polite gaze towards Sansa.

He scratched his head for a moment. "Is it true, that the imp has a dwarf child here in Harrenhal?" _He's about as smart as Robert and he was a witless sot._

For only the briefest of moments, Cersei saw irratation on Sansa's face, but this young knight was clearly oblivious to her lack of interest towards him.

"Yes, Ser Harry," her voice was courteous and did little to show her displeasure, "Have you met Lanna?"

Ser Harry looked deep in thought for a moment before laughing, "Who thought the ugly little monster would have a pretty daughter?"

_A valid question,_ thought Cersei for a moment.

"Ser Shadrich, can you find her for me?"

The sellsword grinned and left. Sansa looked at her captors and indicated a chamber to her left.

"A Bride must look good on her wedding, Lanna and I will do her hair."

"I must beg my leave." The handsome dolt of a knight was hesistant to leave, for he clearly wanted something more. Sansa offered her hand, which Ser Harry eagerly kissed. "I eagerly await our marriage good ser."

The gag effectively choked off her laughter. Did this fool of a knight know about Tyrion yet? Her little demonspawn brother would break his fast on this man. It was a shame, but by the looks of things Sansa would not be dissapointed. _You've changed little Dove, but you're still a terrible liar._

She was dragged into the modest chamber and bound to the chair. "Leave us," Sansa commanded the guards.

Sansa removed the gag that had been put on earlier.

Cersei gasped for breath for a moment.

"I am still the Queen Regent!" Cersei tried to scream but her voice was already hoarse from being gagged.

"I will see you drown in the blood of traitors you little cun…"

She did not even see it coming.

_Slap_

The sound rippled across her face before she felt it.

"Traitor…traitor," she felt slender fingers dig into her hair and clench into tight fists.

"It was you, all along it was you!" Sansa had no fear of her this time, now that she was bounds hands and feet to a chair.

"You had your children with your brother! How do you have any right to judge me?"

Cersei knew that her face must have betrayed something.

"My father was right, and you killed him. You killed your husband. You even killed your own kin when you no longer needed them, because they knew the truth."

_Lancel deserved what he got, but why does everybody think I killed Kevan?_

"My family lost everything because of you! I lived a lie because of you!"

Cersei could not help but smile defiantly as she noticed the tears beginning to well up in Sansa's eyes. "Welcome to the game, Little Dove. I told your father once, that in the game of thrones, you win or you die."

This time Cersei saw the slap coming.

"You lost the game, you vile kinslayer." Her voice was low; Cersei could not help but notice the hard undertones of her voice.

A knock on the door interupted her captor's thoughts. "I've found her," the voice from behind the door seemed to say. "Come in," Sansa called back. Cersei was unable to resist the gag that was put on her once more.

Lanna, the girl who Cersei had just learned was her niece entered the room.

"My lady, you wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," Sansa's voice went soft. "It's time we talked about your father."

* * *

><p><strong>Brienne<strong>

"You know Harrenhal better than me, my lady." Podrick Payne was intimidated by the size of the immense citadel. Hyle Hunt nodded in agreement.

They passed the opened gate unchallenged. The armies of the Vale had been not been here two days, but they had wasted no in making the repairing many of the buildings to shelter against a winter that would soon be the coldest in living memory.

Much had changed Brienne noticed, more than 20,000 troops were camped here and more were coming. The filth she remembered had mostly frozen, and with it, thankfully many diseases that plagued the camps.

The stares of bored soldiers followed her and her disfigured face. When she was tired of the stares, she donned the helm that had once belonged to the Hound.

Her companions stopped in the great courtyard and gaped at the five great towers.

Brienne wondered how likely she was to find one of Catelyn Stark's daughters in this place. The chances probably were not so high. She had no doubts that useful information would be found here.

Catelyn Stark was a ghost, but she had sworn an oath to protect two innocent girls, who were wanted dead or alive by many.

She noticed Podrick casting a shy glance at a passing girl near his age. The girl's appearance made Brienne's heart skip a beat. The girl looked like a Lannister, and could have easily been Jaime's bastard daughter if she had not known him as well as she did.

Brienne tried not to think of Jaime. She had wronged him, but she had done it for the lives of Podrick and Ser Hyle. His life had been in danger because of her, but he had beaten the odds against him. He had forgiven her afterwards, but he could not trust her anymore.

The thought that Jaime could no longer trust him made her sadder than she thought she could imagine.

What she saw next, turned her blood to ice.

"Maid of Tarth, is that you?"

It was Ser Shadrich.

She pulled open the snout-shaped basinet to give the Mad Mouse a better look.

The handsome cocksure hedge knight flinched from her.

"I don't know who looks prettier, you or the first Hound."

Brienne prayed that this wiry little snake would not find either of Lady Catelyn's daughters. But she could also see the look in his eyes of a cat lean and hungry about to swallow a wounded bird.

"You came at a good time, wench."

_Only one man can call me that._ Podrick and Hyle expressed displeasure at the word.

"Her name is Brienne," Ser Hyle lazily spat at the hedge knight's foot.

The man only laughed, "You all came at a good time, We have a wedding and a feast two hours hence."

* * *

><p><strong>Sansa<strong>

She led Lanna into an adjacent chamber so that they did not have to feel Queen Cersei's hateful glare. Sansa wanted to get away from her right now. It wasn't because she feared Cersei anymore, but because of the bitterness she felt looking at the queen.

The thoughts of Cersei were now thankfully overshadowed by what she was about to tell Lanna. Sansa could not help but wonder how Jon must have reacted to the news of his parentage.

Littlefinger had told her about Lanna's parentage when she asked about the tower cell that only briefly held her.

"Have they told you who he is?" Sansa asked.

Lanna looked down, "your father and everyone else calls him the imp."

She nodded.

"He is an evil man, he raped my mother."

Sansa was actually taken aback at the statement. Tyrion was many things, but she could not see him as one who forced himself on women.

"He is your father, and if he knew of your existence, he would do anything to find and meet his daughter." She knew that he was fiercely protective of things and people that he regarded as his.

"How would you know?" Lanna was suspicious, and rightfully so of her assured tone.

_Oh, here it comes_

"Because I married him."

Lanna looked at her dumfounded, "but you were a baseborn maid of four and ten, before today." She was envious of the legitimization that Queen Cersei had wasted on a trueborn girl, and tried hard not to let it show.

"Lanna, my name is not Alayne. I am not the daughter of Lord Baelish." She felt a strange relief wash over her as she said the words. "I am Sansa Stark, the trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully." She could feel Alayne fading away.

"Two years ago, I was wed to your father against my will. His family wanted my claim to Winterfell. Your father did as he was bid, but he was…unwilling to consumate the marriage with someone almost old enough to be his daughter."

The dumbfounded expression on Lanna's face twisted into a grin that reminded her of Tyrion.

"Does this mean I can call you mother?"

For a brief instant, Sansa was mortified and wondered if Jon had ever asked her mother such a question. A Lannister wanted to call her mother, and it was not even her own child. _Does she jape or does she want someone to call family_? The girl was as old as she was, but acted more like Randa. She did not want the girl to feel rejection either.

_If I ever had a child, I would never let them like grow up like Jon._

"Yes, I suppose you can."

Lanna gave a cry of delight and threw her arms around Sansa.

After all, they were family.

* * *

><p><strong>Jaime<strong>

The rowboat plowed into the hardened sand on the banks of the ruby ford. The boat he had stolen several days ago. From there he just floated down the familiar Red Fork. He found a small purse of coppers and a silver stag hidden in the boat.

Times had changed, wherever he went, he was a fugitive. To go west would ensure captivity and eventual execution.

To the south was Aegon he had heard, who had somehow survived the sack of King's Landing. This had the mark of Varys all over it.

To the East was King's Landing, maybe Tyrion would try to reason with the daughter of Aerys, before his head was struck off.

To go north would mean facing the Freys who had no love for him, or worse Stannis, who would execute him for the three treasons known as Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella, the worst part was that he deserved it and he knew it.

He hid the boat, under a tree that had fallen on the riverside.

Once the boat was safely concealed, he began walking north on the Kingsroad. He had walked no more than a mile when he saw the crossroads inn.

Jaime had thought about the risks of entering the inn, on the way from the ford. From what Brienne mentioned, the inn was not frequented as often as it used to be.

Jaime Lannister was no stranger in the Riverlands, but few would recognize him, in the clothes he now wore. His hair was roughly cut on the journey down the red fork; he wanted to be able to pass as a lowborn.

As he approached, he became conscious of the sound of a hammer on steel. It was a quiantly pleasant sound to hear. Jaime stopped by the place to momentarily bask in the warmth of the smith. The door was open, and that was when he saw the boy.

The wench had mentioned this man, he remembered. What was his name?

She said he was the spitting image of Renly, but in all honesty he looked more like Robert Baratheon after the Trident.

He had the same curled black hair and blue eyes of Robert, and no doubt had his uncommon strength. The boy looked to have seen seventeen namedays.

_Gendry_. That was his name.

He looked towards the anvil, and noticed that the boy was beating a helmet into shape.

"What's take that you're making there," Jaime startled the lad.

"A helm"

Jaime studied the helm for a moment, "Is that a bull?"

The young man only shrugged, "it matches my sigil."

"And you are?"

"Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill?"

"Where did you get your knighthood?" Jaime had a nagging suspicion, but he wanted to know.

"Lord Beric gave me mine. I took a bull for my sigil, because people say that I'm stubborn as a bull."

Jaime noticed a shield that had a black bull on a grey field.

_He may be a Baratheon after all_, thought Jaime. He carried the demeanor of a bastard, which was clear enough. The knight was probably one of King Robert's children. He would have to be careful here. Jaime remembered hearing that following Robert's death, Cersei had tried to kill as many of Robert's bastards as she could find.

Jaime picked up a short sword that was lying around on a nearby table,

"What kind of knight smiths?" Jaime asked curiously.

Gendry shrugged, "I don't think there are many knights like me."

_Ha, I used to think the same thing._

"I might be lowborn, but I protect the weak and defend the innocent. What is a Knighthood to a man who lives by his vows?"

That hurt.

"This is good work, where did you learn to make a good sword?"

"I grew up in King's Landing on the Street of Steel. I was an apprentice to Tobho Mott."

Jaime was familiar with Tobho Mott's shop. As expensive as the place was nobody in King's Landing made armor like they did.

"That is a pretty good shop, how did you end up in this war-torn hellhole?"

"My master got sick of me one day, and kicked me out. I joined a Night's Watch caravan that left the day Lord Stark lost his head."

Jaime decided to sit down as he heard the story of how Gendry had come to be here. When he was done, Jaime could not help but ask why he left the brotherhood to smith for an orphan house.

"I felt a hole in my life, when Lord Beric, Hotpie, and Arya all left. The orphans, they became my family. The only family I really knew." _Arya Stark you mean._

Brienne had told him that Lady Arya had somehow escaped King's Landing, and ended up in the company of the brotherhood much like this man. Last he had heard the Hound had kidnapped Arya Stark so that he could ransom the girl herself. Sandor Clegane was dead however, and gods only knew where Catelyn Stark's daughters were.

He was rambling, "My mother died when I was very young, and I never had a father."

Jaime smiled, "I have a son of my own, but he does not even know who his father is."

The boy of seven and ten frowned, "Then how are you a father? A father is someone who supports his children and raises them as his own. Even if he does not like the mother."

_Gods be good, am I hearing this from a bastard of Robert's?_

It was too much for him to take. Jaime got up and left the smith for the inn. Upon entering the inn, he instanly felt the eyes of the orphans on him.

Ignoring them, he approached the woman appeared to be running the establishment, and produced two coppers.

"A hot meal if you please."

A bowl of warm onion soup was set before him.

"Do you plan to spend the night here?"

"No, I just needed a meal," Jaime was glad that he had met Gendry; this place stunk of the Brotherhood without Banners.

He produced another copper, "I want some ale, wine, whatever you have these days."

"We have some ale," the innkeep announced meeky, "but it's not very good."

"The ale will be good enough; it's been bloody cold these days."

The ale was a little watery, but he felt the warmth surge through his veins.

"Any news lately?"

"Same old, same old," the woman told him. "Every army in the Seven Kingdoms is coming to Riverlands."

"Where are you from," the innkeeper asked.

"Fairmarket."

"Where are you heading?"

The stares of the fatherless orphans were all he needed to make his decision.

_Seven save me._

**Next Up: Samwell, Tyrion, Cersei. Does anyone have a request for a certain POV (that has at least one chapter in this story) right now?**

**Note: Just in case you're wondering, Jaime has not yet learned about the Jon Snow bombshell.**

**FYI: I won't have as much time in the coming months to write this, but the good news is that as the story moves on, it becomes easier to write.**

**As always, favorite, follow and above all, review. I really enjoy the feedback. Just for fun, what would your setting for a major showdown be? Let me know via review or PM.**


	13. The Lion and the Mockingbird

**Just a quick note on time, some POV's are ahead (the assault on the Twins for instance was originally meant to happen around chapter 10 but, I decided that the story would flow better if I put added some action to a few slower chapters), and some are behind (Melisandre should have happened between Chapters six and eight.) Sorry for the inconsistencies, but they are there either for the sake of the story, or because I couldn't finish a POV segment at a certain time.**

**Flashfoward**

The woman was thrown to the floor below the dais by two men of the city watch in Maegor's holdfast. With the absense of the queen and her hand, the governance of King's Landing fell to him. The presence of the City Watch still made him uneasy but he did not fear them, after all he had killed one of them once with nothing but his bared hands.

The woman had hair black as coal, and blue eyes that showed only a flicker of fear.

He hated dealing with spies, or really any kind of cloak and dagger work. It went against everything in him to condemn any woman, but the evidence of her crimes was overwhelming. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Part of him wanted to blame Tywin Lannister's son whose order to purge the households of several traitors, which resulted in her discovery and capture.

"You have been found guilty of murder, and spying for an enemy of the crown." He felt himself hesitate before continuing. "Do you have anything to say before I pass the sentence?"

She had been waiting for a chance to speak, he could tell. She smiled, but it did not seem to reach her eyes

"My lord husband has a shadow over us all and would be very upset if anything happened to me."

* * *

><p><strong>Samwell<strong>

The crack of dawn came to Oldtown. Samwell Tarly took a moment to savor the warm winter sun over Oldtown. He was outside the Northgate, waiting for the men who would soon become brothers of the Night's Watch.

A handful of men Hightower men were with him, to await the arrivals.

Sam took several minutes to make a headcount of the recruits that were shown the list that an officer of the City Watch of Oldtown had given him. Over three hundred Ironborn would take the black. In addition, thirty criminals had been taken from the dungeons of Oldtown. In addition were a score of sellswords who had been brought to the rally point in chains. They had attempted to open a gate for the Ironmen.

The disloyal sellswords came first. The leader of the band, Urswyck the Faithful, had also been charged by the Faith Militant of Heresy. A troop of Sparrows escorted these prisoners. Samwell Tarly knew that these men were trouble.

A few minutes later came the outcasts and criminals of Oldtown were escorted to the camp by the City Watch. Many were thieves, some were rapers, and a few were murderers. In addition, there were a few poor souls who came of their own free will. He studied the crowd wondering if he would find any familiar faces.

Sure enough, he saw Pate among them. _Did he get caught for stealing?_ Sam wondered. The pig boy must have gotten in trouble for discovering the Citadel's dirty smallclothes.

Sam really wanted to stay and read the forbidden volumes that Pate had read, but if he stayed beyond today, he would welcome the terrible eye of the Citadel.

"Pate, is that you?" Sam called out.

The deceptively stupid pig boy laughed, "No, it's the pig boy."

"Have you decided to become a brother of the Night's Watch?"

"Well, the archmaester kicked me out. He said I was too dumb to be a maester."

_He wants to leave Oldtown,_ Sam realized.

Only then did Sam note the bulky pack he was wearing. _The sneaky little bastard got away with the goods._ He would keep his eye on him.

He heard the Ironborn prisoners just before seeing them. The men who escorted them wore the device of a silver sword and a star on a violet field. The boy, who was barking out commands, appeared to be no more than five and ten. He rode up towards Sam.

"Are you Samwell Tarly?" The boy asked. His hair was as fair as honey, and his eyes were a dark indigo.

_The one and only_, thought Sam. He nodded

"I am Edric Dayne, the lord of Starfall. I shall escort you and your men through the Riverlands."

"Can you escort us to Castle Black?"

"I can promise you no such thing. I volunteered to escort your men, but I must be back with my levies, for the sake of King Aegon and Lord Connington will want me back as soon as I can manage. The war will take me to the Riverlands, and unlikely any place further north than the Green Fork."

"My condolences, for your Lord Commander."

"Have you not heard?" Sam asked, "They say he lives as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen."

"I was aware," Edric replied somberly. "My liege lord Berric Dondarrion was brought back a dozen times by such a priest, before he gave his life for another."

"It is strange to think of your friend as a Targaryen. You know we were milk brothers long ago; we shared the same wet nurse. When Lord Stark came to Starfall with my uncle's bones, he hired a wet nurse for John. I later learned that my aunt Alyria had convinced Ned Stark, to name Wylla as Jon's mother."

"Jon is in the Riverlands last I heard. You might get to see him."

Edric became ill at ease upon hearing that, "now he fights for Stannis Baratheon. If we ever meet, I fear it will be with Dawn in hand."

"Dawn?" Sam had heard plenty about Dawn.

"I am the sword of the morning," Edric replied with a somber sense of pride.

Lord Dayne unsheathed the greatsword which poked up behind his back as if it were a third arm. The sword was unlike anything he had seen. It was as bright as lightbringer and pale as milkglass.

The tip of the greatsword was on the warm midmorning ground, and standing near as tall as its wielder.

"I swear upon Dawn, that I will bring you as far north as King Aegon will allow me."

One of the Ironborn captives laughed at him. "That's a pretty sword there boy, if I wasn't wearing chains, I'd pay the Iron price for it and maybe be the new morning sword."

Before anyone could react, a sergeant in Dayne colors knocked the troublesome prisoner to the ground with the butt of his spear. He would have continued the beating had not Lord Dayne commanded the sergeant to stand back.

He approached the man who had dared to mock him. "I carry Dawn, because I am the Sword of the Morning, not the other way around. It is the deeds of those who carry the sword of my house rather than skill at arms that earns the title."

Dayne barked out a few commands in his lordly voice.

"How many men are you escorting to the wall?"

Sam looked at the subtotals.

"Three hundred seventy eight men will take the Black."

At least from Oldtown, but he had no idea what Ned Dayne would think about passing through King's Landing.

* * *

><p><strong>Cersei<strong>

A sea of faces highborn and lowborn followed her down the cavernous Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Yule logs were burning in at least a dozen of the Hearths.

Her arms were bound handcuffs, and concealed to the lords and ladies who saw her by a crimson towel that covered her hands.

On her right was Sansa, her good sister. On her left was Margaery Tyrell, her good daughter. Behind them all was Lanna, her niece who wore a bulky tunic that easily concealed a pointed knife, just in case Cersei refused to take another step.

Cersei continued with the pace set for her.

"Don't embarrass yourself… mother." Margaery Tyrell had told her earlier. "Harrenhal is a great castle with great towers where accidents can happen."

She understood the meaning too well. Margaery did not want the wedding to happen. If anything happened to Tommen, Margaery would no longer get to call herself queen. If anything happened to her on the other hand, Margaery would have a more secure queenship.

Cersei felt the eyes of the guests; they looked at her the same way the small folk did when she was marched naked from the Great Sept. They held back their bawdy jeers, for now at least.

Littlefinger was looking at her with excitement, but it was not because he was about to wed the Light of the West. No, when he looked at her, he saw a Kingdom within easy grasp. This marriage would be worse than her marriage to Robert. When she looked him in the eyes, it was clear that he knew she was going to kill him the first chance she got. Not only that but his eyes seemed to say _try it_.

"Who comes before the eyes of gods and men?" The septon called dryly.

"Cersei Lannister, widow of Robert Baratheon and mother of the king," Margaery called out. _You forgot Queen Dowager, bitch._

"Who gives the bride?"

The septon cleared his throat. Sansa and Margaery exchanged a look.

"Lanna Hill, the base born daughter of Tyrion Lannister, who is her niece," the bastard spoke up before either Sansa or Margaery could say anything. The aging septon gave her a look of dispproval, but said nothing.

The ceremony passed as if it were a nightmare, and when the time came, Littlefinger greedily yanked away the Maiden's cloak. Cersei remembered that it was the same cloak that Tyrion had put on Sansa long before.

When Petyr put the cloak on her, it felt like a noose and might as well have been.

He moved around to face her. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," she felt his lips which were like two snakes.

The wedding feast was a cold affair.

She spotted a homely old cow of a woman, Cersei recognized her as Brienne of Tarth. _This was the ugly wench that Jaime ran off with?_

Cersei had known that Jaime was held in Riverrun briefly before it fell to what some were calling Catelyn Stark's ghost. _If that's true, then I have Gregor's Ghost_.

This woman would know more, about Jaime.

"Lady Brienne, have you tired of serving my brother?"

The thick witted cow had the decency to look guilty when she asked.

"I don't serve your brother, your grace."

"No, I can see that, but you do love him."

The color in the woman's cheeks turned slightly red and for a moment just stared as if she wanted to deny it.

"He was like a brother to me."

_Jaime only has one sister,_ Cersei inwardly seethed. If Brienne was but a little shorter, Cersei would have thrown the chains that bound her hands over her head and strangled Jaime's new lover. She had killed lesser women who wanted Jaime's affections.

Her angry thoughts were interrupted when she noticed the young boy at her side. Cersei also recognized the boy as Podrick Payne, Tyrion's former squire. He had suddenly become very nervous and began tugging at the woman's sleeve.

"Not now Podrick," she brushed him off.

"Would you like to dance?" It was Sansa.

Podrick's face went from nervous to bright red nervous, "d-d-dance."

She took him by the hand and led him to the floor before he could studder out an objection. Cersei laughed despite everything. _Your secret is out, Sansa Stark_. It would not matter if she used her wiles on her husband's squire.

* * *

><p><strong>Tyrion<strong>

"My lord, we found some interesting tracks."

_Not more wolf tracks, _Tyrion hoped_._

The wolves in the riverlands were said to be quite vicious. It was also said that they targeted any invasion force that occupied the surrounding territory. _Catelyn Stark's bones must be rattling in delight,_ thought Tyrion. _Is this your revenge Lady Stark?_

"What did you find this time, Ser Tumco?"

"Cavalry tracks, most likely a hundred or so horseman heavily armored and heading north. I am certain that they came from the Reach."

His first instinct suggested that Aegon had sent a scouting party to the Riverlands. A hundred horsemen could capture many important places in the area, but would not be able to hold any place outside a castle wall for long.

The main branch of the Blackwater Rush was a day's march behind and King's Landing was nearly a week behind. Less than a few hours away was Stony Sept, or so the scouts told him. That the riders had chosen to avoid a sizable town with good shelter during the winter suggested that secrecy was a priority. Especially given that a storm would be coming tonight. The men knew it, and were marching at a slightly faster pace than usual in hope of making town before the storm hit, which was looking very likely.

"What direction did they appear to be going?"

"Slightly east of north, we followed the tracks to a branch of the Rush, about ten miles from here; the tracks are no more than six hours old."

"Where they trying to avoid us?" Tyrion was suspicious now.

The dark skinned knight chewed on that for a moment. "Hard to say my lords, from the look of the tracks, I would say they were in a hurry."

"Might be didn't they want our food stores," Bronn suggested with the insolent sarcasm that Tyrion somehow found endearing.

"That will be all Ser Tumco, you have my thanks." The knight of the red Basilisk gave a mocking dip of the head that somehow reminded Tyrion of Oberyn Martell.

He turned towards Belicho. "See if you can find anybody that's been to the Riverlands lately, start with Hoster." He wanted to know more about how things stood from the smallfolk's point of view. From what he had heard about the Riverlands lately, even a simple-minded peasant could pose a threat to any outsiders.

His squire rode off. He chewed over the thought of this development. If they were going north east from here, and if they were in such a hurry to cross a small river that could have been no longer than half a day's length, they were not headed for Riverrun. There was only one logical possibility here, Harrenhal. At the moment, he had received no word on events at Harrenhal, but he was certain that Cersei had been betrayed by Littlefinger the same way he sold out Ned Stark. There was no way the former master of coin would put up with his mad sister for long, with Stannis at the Twins and Daenerys Targaryen in King's Landing. Who would bid the most for Petyr Baelish, Tyrion wondered? Not Stannis that was certain, even with the support of the Iron Bank.

Tyrion's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Hoster Blackwood. He was fond of the boy, he had to admit. Tyrion rarely thought about the idea of being a father, but to him, Hoster was the closest thing he would have to a son.

"You wanted to speak with me, my lord?"

"Yes."

"How were things in Raventree Hall when you left it?"

"They were much better, the siege ended and Lord Bracken went home mostly disappointed." Tyrion had not given too much thought to rivalries between houses in the Riverlands aside from the Freys and everybody else. He had known that Brackens and Blackwoods never really got along, but he was unsure about the extent of the feud, aside from the old tale of Bloodraven and Bittersteel.

"How strong is the feud between the Blackwoods and Brackens?"

Hoster thought about his answer for a moment, "truth be told, it's kind of silly, we Blackwoods have much Bracken blood, and the Brackens have a good deal of Blackwood blood. Our houses have spent generations brooding over things our ancestors have done to one another."

"A feud between kin, believe me Hoster, I understand quite well."

"My lord, the best thing you can do for the Riverlands is bring back their liege lord, not Baelish, but Tully."

Tyrion had heard a report from a rider in the night which included information on Edmure Tully's wherabouts. He was currently imprisoned at the Golden Tooth, with an amassed 6,000 Westermen who would soon be marching west, but not before he reached Riverrun.

"Edmure Tully is currently out of my reach."

"The Tullys have been the only family capable of holding this torn land together, since Aegon's Conquest, and Lord Edmure is your uncle by marriage besides."

Tyrion felt his jaw twitch in annoyance at the mention of his marriage. The Tullys had brought him had naught but grief over the years, the Starks were little better.

Damn them all, the Starks and Tullys.

Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa had both tried to have him killed. He could at least respect Catelyn Stark for her reasons.

Her children had also brought him grief. Bran Stark, who he only wanted to help, served only to to become a lynchpin for a conflict between the lions and the wolves. And of course there was Sansa. She had abandoned him in his hour of greatest need because of a murder she that she may have commited.

Tyrion had no problem with the actual killing of Joffrey; nobody as far as he knew had more right to justice. _Joffrey was her's, just as father was mine_. He would not forgive Sansa however, for disappearing and leaving him with a free pass to Ser Ilyn. Someday his wife would answer for that.

"My lord," a voice that might as well have belonged to a local shook him out of his thoughts.

It was a girl who wore a shirt of light mail. For someone no older than thirteen namedays, she had a harsh beauty. He was pretty certain that the girl was also a spy on behalf of the queen.

"What's your name girl?"

Her face twitched nervously, the way many women did when they saw him for the first time, "Jeyne Rivers."

"So you come from the Riverlands, where?"

"Stoney Sept, my lord." The girl answered almost too quickly.

"That seems lucky; do you relish the prospect of home?"

"No." She answered with sadness. "I lost my home and my family during the last war."

Tyrion knew what she meant. His abduction by Catelyn Stark was answered by his father with the Mountain that Rides. The locals were not like to forget the name of his house, and the destruction that Tywin Lannister had laid upon this land.

"Do you know who holds the Stoney Sept currently?"

The Jeyne Rivers shrugged, "what does it matter, its brotherhood land."

The nonchalant manner of that statement suggested that she knew more than she was telling.

"What do you know about the Brotherhood without Banners?"

She paused for a moment as if to recall some lost memory. "The Brotherhood, wanted to defend the Riverlands from the Mountian that rides, or at least that's what they did during the war."

Much had changed since the Red Wedding, and the girl had probably left her homeland at about the same time he did. Tyrion decided not to press the issue.

Not that he would need to; a rider arrived and promptly addressed him.

"My lord, I bear urgent news from Harrenhal."

Tyrion could sense the bad news before he read the dispatch.

_Cersei Lannister entered Harrenhal, where she was promptly betrayed, and forced to marry Lord Petyr Baelish under threat of death. __Lord Baelish now holds a claim to the Seven Kingdoms as a whole, and has marshalled an army of at least 23,000 troops. __There is more troubling news concerning you Lord Lannister, his first act as king was to legitimize a bastard girl named Lanna Hill, whom he claims to be your daughter by your first wife. Also Lord Baelish claims to have a bastard daughter of his own named Alayne Stone, who is clearly someone other than his daughter, in fact her description nearly matches the description you gave of Lady Sansa, your second wife. Keep vigilance my lord, this man has many surprises that have yet to find fruitition._

The air around him suddenly felt much colder.

The magnitude of what he had just read, was just too great to properly understand right now.

_Sansa,_ his throat felt dry. If she was with Littlefinger, then that meant...

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It meant that Littlefinger was the mastermind behind Joffrey's murder. He had the means but not a sensible motive; not unless he planned to sit on the Iron Throne himself someday.

And who was Lanna Hill, was she truly his daughter by Tysha? If she was, then she was also under the care of Littlefinger too. The thought of Littlefinger having his daughter gave him only rage.

Suddenly he heard shouts.

One of his Golden Men, one with less armor galloped towards his horse and jumped from the saddle snatching him from his horse and grounding him in a snowbank, just in time, for a few arrows the fly over their heads.

"Are you hurt?" The guard asked shielding Tyrion's dwarf body with his own.

"I think I broke an arm, what in Seven Hells is happening?"

"My lord, we've been ambushed!"

"Thank you, Ser Obvious!" Tyrion snarled back. Right now somebody needed to die.

**Next Up: Davos, Dany, Arya, and maybe Brienne**

**Well, it's only going to get better from here.**

**just in the spirit of curiousity, who is your favorite POV for _this_ story, your least? Let me know via PM or Review.**


	14. Breaker of Chains

**Flashback**

He woke up in a dungeon cell with a great hangover. _What happened last night? _He became aware of the chains that bound him to the wall of his dank cell.

_I'm at the Twins_, he realized as the jailor passed him by. The man had the livery of house Frey sewn onto his tabard. The weasel faced man stopped to spit at him.

_What the fuck happened last night?_ He saw another prisoner in the cell across from him. The man could be none other than Edmure Tully, who was looking right at him with a look of confusion. "They tell me the party died after I left".

"What are we doing in a dungeon?" He asked.

"Walder Frey broke guest right and killed my sister and her son. We've been betrayed."

These chains would not hold him forever. His sigil was a giant breaking the chains that bound him.

* * *

><p><strong>Daenerys<strong>

The snow was up to her ankles in the throne room.

Despite being an eyesore, the Iron Throne held a strange appeal. Part of the roof for the throne room had collapsed. A few stained glass windows were shattered here and there. She wanted to see it one more time before marching south to war.

Last night's storm had collapsed part of the roof which landed on the jagged, misshapen Iron Throne. Half a dozen blades halfway up the steps to the throne of swords had been dislodged by the piece of fallen roof.

Dany looked closer. The blades of the Iron Throne were forged in dragonfire, but these ones must have been loose. She looked curiously into the small chasm, that seemed to have formed because of the fallen roof piece.

But there was something in there that drew her eye. A Longsword unlike the rest was planted in the tangle of steel as if it there for her to see. Its golden pommel was old and somewhat distorted.

She could not say what compelled her to reach into the chasm and grab the sword by the hilt. She tugged at the hilt and felt the sword slowly but surely leave its iron prison. Despite its distorted pommel, something about the sword felt right to her.

Dany heard Ser Barristan gasp a moment after the sword was lifted into the air.

"Gods, it cannot be." Dany looked at her Lord Commander not understanding the surprise.

"What is it?" Dany asked.

"It's Darksister." He began to laugh, "So that's where Bloodraven hid it."

Viserys had told her the tales of house Targaryen's Valyrian blades. Darksister was the blade once wielded by Visenya during Aegon's war of Conquest. The blade had been bequeathed she knew to a bastard of Aegon IV known as Bloodraven. When King Maekar inherited the throne, the blade had disapeared.

"Why did he hide his family sword?" The dust that came off the blade told her that the blade had been undisturbed for a long time.

"When Maekar Targaryen inherited the Iron Throne, he ordered the imprisonment of his Barstard uncle, Brynden Rivers. Aegon IV gave one of his bastard sons the blade rather than his trueborn son Daeron, because he believed that Daeron had been fathered by Aemon the Dragonknight who was brother to queen Naerys. "

Dany did not fail to notice Ser Barristan's pained attempts at keeping a straight face.

_Aemon the Dragonknight reminds me of somone I know_. She could almost hear Tyrion chortle as he chewed at the parallels within his own blood.

"Maekar demanded to know where Darksister was, Bloodraven as they called him gave only cryptic riddles and double tongue."

"What happened then?" Dany had to ask, she had long since realized that Viserys did not know everything about their family history.

"For his lack of cooperation, Brynden Rivers was thrown into a Black Cell where he lived until Maekar's death at Starpike. When the great council was called, he was released and allowed to participate in the council that chose your grandfather Aegon V. He was allowed to join the Night's Watch as part of an honor guard for Aegon's brother, Aemon who was a chained maester. The High Septon offered to absolve Aemon of his vows, but instead joined the watch so that he could not be used against his younger brother.

"We should go now, your grace, your army will be waiting near Baelor's Sept."

Dany left the throne room with Dark Sister in hand and Ser Barristan in tow.

"What happened to Bloodraven?"

"Whatever could be said about Brynden Rivers, he was an effective leader of men, he was elected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, only to disappear in the lands beyond the wall a mere fortnight after his election."

The rest of the journey to Baelor's Sept was ruled by silence. Dany saw the city of King's Landing and all its denizens who saw her off

When she reached the Great Sept, the warhorns blew and soldiers cheered at her in a dozen different tongues.

She walked up to the pulpit that the High Septon normally preached from. The voices died down quickly for the most part. She spoke to the crowds and heard her voice ring across Visenya's hill.

"A new dawn has come to Westeros. With it comes a power beyond our reckoning that even Aegon the Conquerer did not have, with its own victory at hand!

Cheers erupted from the plaza. She continued only as they subsided.

"In Volantis they called me Azor Ahai the savior of our lands, and that is what I am. I am Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, the unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker chains, and Queen of Westeros"

"This day, we shall stain the land with the blood of the false, and when you are done nobody will ever call you a usurper. Today, we march south to bring fire and blood on the Reach and all the lords who can dare to call themselves loyalists.

"Our foe is as numerous as the desert sands, but they weak and corrupt. Our enemy call themselves dragons but they are not, for I am the only Dragon."

The crowd cheered once more, as the cry "Slayer of lies" was taken up and the warhorns were sounded again.

There would be no spring for the Reach.

* * *

><p><strong>Arya<strong>

Arya felt strangely calm as the arrows wizzed by. Commands were ringing out in the common tongue, and high Valyrian.

The shouting from the trees grew louder, "Warrior, Warrior," they cried.

Arya's First instinct was that this was the Brotherhood without Banners, but as the figures came closer, she decided that they did not sound like the brotherhood.

The enemy wore long coats of dark wool that seemed to be suspended from a pair of crossed chains that each soldier wore. They were now charging down the wooded hill to the column's right.

_Sparrows_, Arya realized. She knew back in King's Landing that the Faith was not on terms with Daenerys Targaryen. She recalled hearing a begging brother preach that she had brought doom to the Seven Kingdoms by bringing an army of outlander heritics to secure her ungodly rule. She had only heard it only once, from that man in the streets of Flea Bottom, for the next day he had disappeared. Into a bowl of Brown, one local remarked. Arya knew better than to ask what kind of meat went into those bowls.

She was separated from her company because Lord Tyrion wanted to know things stood in the Riverlands. But _at least this was the safest place to be_, Arya realized.

Lord Lannister's Bodyguard formed a thin line of halberds at the shallow ditch by the side of the road. Behind them, a few men with Bastard swords took up position on the road behind the ditch.

The enemy leveled their spears as they approached; the arrows were no longer flying now, for fear of friendly fire.

The Golden men made short work of the attack, with bastard blades breaking up the formation, followed through with the halberds.

The surviving enemy, retreated up the hill, but many slipped on the bloodied snow or were felled by Targaryen arrows.

The Imp turned towards Hoster Blackwood. "Hoster, get to safety"

He pointed towards her, "Lady Rivers, we have enemy archers on that hill, tell Ser Tumco to take that hill."

Arya turned her horse, and rode down the column and around the bend in the road. The corspes of many who wore the Stokeworth tabard where in the mud writhing in pain, the survivors packed into a defensive ring on that saddled the road. Clearly they had been attacked from most sides.

"Where's Ser Tumco?" she called out to the group. Their leader, a slim man with a hungry look recognized the Basilisk sigil she wore.

"He's chasing that Brune whoreson, we've been betrayed."

"Lord Tyrion wants him to take that hill," she pointed up at the enemy.

"Find him if you can, I'll send a runner to tell him," the lord of Stokeworth calmly drawled despite everything.

Past the defensive ring, she saw dead men who had fought for the Brunes, and a few who wore the basilisk sigil. The tracks suggested that they had climbed the hill.

Arya spurred her horse up the hill. The mare jumped over the roadside ditch and past a body. The horse followed the tracks up the hill.

She was conscious of the Brune men who had fallen only to be trampled underfoot. The song of steel was getting even louder. Arya looked to her left, and saw the Stokeworth men still ringed across the road. _It looks like we've already charged the hill._ A few wild arrows flew in her direction; they had charged the wrong hill, of course.

"Where is the Ser?" Arya asked when she had caught up with the force, everyone in the company called Tumco Lho, the ser, which for some reason reminded her of the Mountain that Rides and his men.

"The ser is dead, that turncloak Brune did him in, but we got right here." He gestured towards a man in armor who had been slung across the back of a horse. "Ser Bennard and his boys ran all right, but they weren't fast enough."

"Who commands then?"

"I do," the voice belonged to the oldest of the sergeants, a red bearded Tyroshi.

"Lord Tyrion wants us up the hill."

The Tyroshi laughed, "aren't we just the best, he means the archers in that direction right?"

The Archers on the hill where already running by the time their charge began, but got no more than five hundred feet west of the hill before they beat down the men in thick brown roughspun wool.

Needle, which she still carried, quickly became red with the blood of Sparrows.

A few managed to live long enough to yield, and would be questioned soon no doubt.

Arya wasn't she what the Imp did to prisoners, but she had a feeling that there was another Tickler, around here somewhere. Where the mountian that rides and his men were cruel and stupid, these men were cunning.

He was still her goodbrother, which made her feel more and more uneasy. Many often said that he still lived under the shadow of his family, but he was the most dangerous of them all, it took one look at him in battle to see that there was more cruelty in him than all the Lannisters she remembered, his demeanor almost reminded her of the Hound.

She had to be carefull whenever she was near him. The possibility made the hair rise behind her neck.

Arya knew that Sansa was still out there with a bounty on her head, the Imp was looking for her but he had made it clear that he wanted her alive.

"Ride out to the halfman, and tell him we got them, tell em about Brune too will you, I don't think he's gonna survive the ride to Stoney Sept."

The Halfman was at the top of the hill with twenty of his bodyguards and the lord of Stokeworth.

The men turned their gaze to face her as she rode into view.

"We got Brune, my lord."

Tyrion Lannister gave the barest of nods. "Offer my thanks to Ser Tumco."

"Ser Tumco is dead," Arya kind of missed the calm but deadly knight from the Basilisk Isles already.

Five horsemen came up before anyone could respond, their leader wore a doublet over his coat of mail the showed golden stars on a white field. "We've been attacked by sparrows on the way here."

"You don't fucking say, we got betrayed by the Brunes of Cracklaw Point, where in seven hells where you."

"Why?"

"Wouldn't I have told you if I knew why, we just got attacked by Faith Militant, and for all we know, the next enemy is still hiding in our ranks."

"My Lord, do sparrows carry Valyrian blades?" The voice belonged to a man from Flea Bottom.

Her attention was drawn to a comely man who had seen no more than forty namedays. A longbow arrow had taken him through the right cheek, and his body was sprawled on the ground his eyes wide open as if he still could not believe that death would come for him.

"I know this man," Lord Tyrion declared. "I saw him when I was being tried at the Vale. His name is Lyn Corbray, and this blade is known as Lady Forlorn."

* * *

><p><strong>Davos<strong>

The blizzard would not last much longer. It was the hour of the wolf, which Davos found fitting. The current on the Blue Fork was thankfully gentle. He guided his boat across the River a mere two hundred yards upstream from the Crossing.

This was his second and last trip across the frigid river before leading a dozen men through a privy shaft on the north side of the West Keep. He had a dangerous mission to complete; he would have to reach the dungeons and break the prisoners out before they were executed. The siege from the west had broken off after the Freys captured Ser Patrek Mallister by stealth. From the East, the Umbers and Lockes had not participated in the assualt on the East Keep for fear of their inprisoned kin.

Jon Targaryen, had attempted to use a dying Edwyn Frey to yield the castle which was held by his half-brother, another weasel named Walder, but known as Black Walder. Edwyn agreed to yield the castle he had recently inherited, but only to spite his brother who had arranged at least one if not more assasination attempts on Edwyn.

It seemed that gross dishonor was more than just a family trait. Only hours before, Edwyn Frey had been taken to the Water Tower which was halfway across the bridge by a wagon. The wagon was driven by a prisoner taken during the battle. He had yielded the Water Tower, but afterwards had been _mistakenly_ shot before crossing the bridge for supposedly being an enemy. Most of the Freys in the Tower including Robb Stark's former squire Olyvar Frey were shown mercy. Some men however, such as Walder Rivers who had put Robb's Starks army to the sword, were forced to take the Black.

The assault on the East Keep would happen in a few hours at the break of dawn. Hopefully by then, the storm would pass. For now, it was difficult to see more than twenty-five feet ahead.

He had some of the best to ever serve Stannis Baratheon behind him. Prince Jon had lent him Asha Greyjoy and one of her _friends_, Qarl the Maid. Davos had already taken a likng to Asha, but Qarl was annoying, much like the rest of her cronies save Tristofer Botley. He was greatful for both of them though, because nobody could scale a castle wall like an Ironborn. They were already waiting on the other side of the river.

At the prow of the boat sat Ser Martyn Snow, a bastard of Oldcastle and a master of steatlh whom Davos had knighted himself for his help in finding Rickon Stark on Skagos. Davos still shivered at the thought of that unholy place, and not just because of the cold. A marksman from the Kingswood was with the party. He also had a Crannogman guide lent to him from the Blackmyres who had actually spent a few nights in Lord Frey's dungeon. Also in the boat sat a man at arms sent to him by Lord Wyman. Raymund was his name. The young man was a skilled mummer from White Harbor.

They crept up to the walls without incident careful not to work up a sweat in this cold. Qarl threw his line. The hook at its end caught the privy. The agile reaver climbed the shaft quickly and gave the line a shake when he reached the top. Asha went next, then the Crannogmen. Raymund who was built like a monkey came afterwards, and was up quicker than anyone else. Ser Martyn was a slower climber partly because of his heavy mail beneath his thick furs and leather jerkin.

Davos, who was the last, was hoisted up as he had some difficulty climbing without the fingertips of his left hand. He felt a sense of triumph; they had all climbed the privy shaft rather quickly. _We have caught the Freys with their breeches down_.

It was then that he noticed a dead Frey placed against the wall. _Well, at least the garrison hasn't been alerted yet_. His was stripped of surcoat, which the Crannogman was now wearing.

As soon as his left foot emerged from the privy, Ser Martyn picked up the dead Frey and dumped him into the shaft. Raymund claimed the crossbow that had been left on the privy, and was currently stringing the weapon

The Crannogman knew the place better than any of them so he led the way. They descended a staircase, and before he knew it, they were in a yard.

"They call this place the Bastard Barracks," the guide made a sweeping motion with his hand to indicate the surrounding yard and all of its surrounding buildings.

"There's the entrance to the dungeon." Davos could make out a small tower that jutted inwards from the wall and a jail with a subterrainean cellar. Bales of hay were stacked before all the windows in the dungeon. Possibly because Black Walder did not want the hostages to die without cause, Davos reasoned.

A gate to the yard opened and two men passed through. Davos and his team were hiding under a wagon laden with hay and were as of yet unnoticed.

The two guards went straight for the dungeon. A bellowing voice called from behind the doors demanding firewood. The two guards began moving in the direction of the wagon.

Instinctively, Davos looked to his left and then his right.

_Damn_, this would not be good. The guards were walking towards a stack of split wood not an arm's reach from where Qarl was hiding. Qarl noticed too and motioned to Asha, then gave an annoyed look at the mudman. The Blackmyre retainer stepped out into plain sight looking like a man who had been given the unpleasant task of splitting the wood.

"You there," one of the Frey sergeants called out, "The jailor wants more firewood, help us bring an armload in."

He turned towards the pile to comply, when Asha threw her "husband" at the nearest of the two. The throwing ax lodged in his throat before he could even scream in surprise. The Crannogman turned and stuck a dagger in the throat of the other in one fluid motion.

The snow which was nearly a foot deep in the yard hungrily absorbed the blood of Freys.

Raymund quickly claimed a Frey surcoat and took care to keep the blood from soaking it as he removed it. Qarl studied the motion before removing the other coat in similar fashion.

Davos gestured towards Qarl and Raymund. "You heard the man, the jailor needs more firewood," He commanded in his captain's voice.

Qarl was the first to respond and carefully loaded an armful of wood. Raymund came next. The crannogman led the way to the dungeon entrance.

The gate to the yard of the Bastard's Barracks opened. Davos thought he saw six Frey men. _Shit, this is going to be closer than Skagos._

"We have firewood," Raymund spoke in a voice similar to that of one of the dead Freys in the yard.

The door opened and they entered, the tower entrance was agreeably warmer. Before the door could fully shut came the cry of "halt!"

The two guardsmen who stood within spitting distance heard the word and immediately knew something was up. "Drop your weapons!" They called.

Qarl hurled his firewood at the guard closest to him. The man jumped backwards and tripped on a step of the stairwell. Davos drew his own longsword and charged the other man. The man had enough time to block his cut. His oppenent moved in for a thrust which the Onion lord dodged and seized the moment to bring the blade down on the man's right arm.

His longsword struck true and severed the guard's sword arm. Davos bashed the man in the face with his shield and thrust his sword into the man's chest finishing him.

"They've come for the hostages." A voice from the dungeon cried. Raymund barred the entrence and aimed his crossbow through the small peep window and fired. His shot was answered with a painfull grunt.

The Onion Lord turned to descend the stairwell and follow his companions.

He heard the banging on the dungeon entrance which was now barred. Shouts came from below from others, friend or foe he could not yet tell. The sound of steel on steel was ringing throughout the dungeon.

It was warmer down here, Davos realized. Moments later, shrieks that could only come from someone burning alive gruesomely echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. He could smell the burned flesh and pitch just before reaching the dungeon antechamber.

Asha had evidently thrown a pitch flask into the hearth. Four men dead or dying were on the stone floor.

Ser Martyn threw his weight into the door that led to the cells. The door shuddered but still held firm. A scream came from beyond.

No, Davos thought. Please don't let the prisoners die when we get this close.

Another scream came from a different voice as Martyn picked up a partially singed bench and broke through the door.

The carnage in here was almost as sickening as the antechamber. The first thing Davos saw was a man whose coat indicated his status as jailer lying against a cell wall. His head looked as if it had been smashed in by a large boulder. So great must have been the impact, that the walls themselves had been splattered with his blood. A closer look at the jailer and Davos noticed a shealth missing its sword.

Some of the cell doors looked as if they had been smashed open at the locks, others were simply left open. Davos felt his eyes drawn to a cell in which part of the wall had recently collapsed.

The prisoners were missing; there was only one way they could have been taken. A heavy wooden door at the end the dungeon was left open. He looked at the Crannogman for an explanation.

"Where does it lead?" Davos asked.

"To the river," was the man's reply.

The Crannogman took the point and was the first one through the door.

The passage was dark, but before long they caught up with the noise. The noise led them to a room with lit by a single torch, and the floor marked by the blue towers of Frey. Davos saw several people, but the first one to grab his attention was a brute of a man who held a broken manacle in one arm, and a short chain with a large piece of stone attached to it.

Raymund nervously held his crossbow at the man, while Asha let her hand drift to her dirk.

"Friend or Frey?" the giant called.

Davos answered in the lordliest voice he could muster, "We serve Stannis Baratheon, the one True King."

Much to the surprise of Davos, the man laughed, it was not the bellowing sound that it could have been if the man was healthier, "The North knows but one King and his name is Stark."

"Which way is out?" one of them asked.

The guide indicated the passage to the left and led the way.

They all jogged down the passageway, as the shouts from behind were getting louder.

Suddenly they came up to a wooden door. Behind it was a stairwell.

"Where are we?" One of the prisoners asked.

"The River Gatehouse"

Davos shuddered; the battle had only just begun.

**Special thanks to Reikson whose Dark Sister Theory was just an absolute joy to put into writing (Bloodraven's riddle in the first chapter is dedicated to him). My next chapter will be up in a few days most likely, it's only a quarter done, because this one is a little bit difficult for me handle. Even though the chapters are getting more difficult to write as the story goes on, the story itself is getting easier to write (unless it involves magic).**

**Next up: Asha, Jon, Melisandre and Bran.**


	15. Author's Note

Authors note: Sorry if this note disappointed anyone who was hoping for an actual chapter. As far as the actual chapter goes, I am about a third complete, and not entirely sure with how to proceed.

I just got "A world of Ice and Fire," and probably won't continue the story until i've chewed on that, (btw the illustrations are amazing). To further conplicate matters, I might have to write a new story based on the information given in the book and ideas that I get. If this happens, expect something interesting like an AU story with Gendry inheriting King Robert's Hammer while he and all of his half-siblings are legitimzed and having a Daemon Blackfyre relationship with Cersei's kids. Can anyone come up with a good believeable name for a Cadet Branch of the Baratheons (that doesn't sound like it came from the trailer park that many Oc's seem to come from), just in caase that happens.

Just to clarify, I'm not abandoning this story, in fact I sat down recently and wrote the general outline for the next ten chapters. I'm still not completely sure of how the story will end, but I have already determined the full arcs of many characters in this story.

For those of you, who are chomping at the bit for more of this story, I can only give you planned (but subject to change) chapter titles for the upcoming chapters

15. The Walls shall fall

16. Hearts of Stone

17. A Storm on the Horizon

18. The Queenmaker

19. Barges of the Mander

20. Black as the Night

21. The Giant Reborn

22. The Spider and the Mockingbird

23. Stone Dragon

24. Black and Red


	16. The Walls shall Fall

**Flashback **

The Weirwood door in the tunnel stood before him. He had told the men at castle Black that he needed to find something at the Nightfort. It seemed like a good place to disappear from the world of men.

He said the words of his oath one final time and the door opened.

The heavy pack that saddled his back was opened and he pulled out a pair of arrows. These were not ordinary arrows; rubies adorned the sides of their heads that were as sharp as raven teeth. The weirwood longbow he carried was pulled out and strung.

_Heat the wall with your fire,_

_Your small size shall suffice_

_When my time at last comes _

_Bring down the wall _

_For Valyria ended in fire_

_But here it will be ice_

_In four score years by the maester tomes_

_When night finally falls_

_When the power of magic grows again in the world_

_And its fate rests with young boys and young girls_

_The watch, it shall crumble with all of its spells_

_And bring winter once more to the place where it fell._

He nocked both arrows at once and used his gifted fingers to aim them well apart from each other. The arrows were loosed and lodged deep in the wall. He unslung his bow and returned it to his pack. The lands beyond the wall were calling.

* * *

><p><strong>Asha <strong>

The river gatehouse was held by a lone sentry when they climbed the stairs and her throwing ax reached him before anyone else did. A bloodcurdling cry came from the dying man.

Ser Martyn, a big hulking brute who in some ways reminded her of her nucle Victarion, was immediately at the gatehouse windlass and with the help of Qarl raised the portcullis. Once it was raised, Qarl pulled out a crowbar and stuck it under the mechanism to insure that the Freys would have difficultly bringing it back down.

One of the prisoners, who was even bigger than Ser Martyn and was still wearing irons on his right arm that looked as if they had been pulled from the wall with a large block of bloodied stone at the end of the chains, claimed the man's sword.

Asha become aware of the growing noise within the castle. Davos pulled out his warhorn, which he had brought just in case they were forced into a tight spot and blew two quick blasts in the direction of the Water Tower.

The two blasts meant come and get us.

Asha noticed a pot of oil and moved the heavy cauldron over a brazier.

The thrum of Raymund's crossbow was followed by a grunt of pain when a man collapsed face down in the cobblestone courtyard. She could see the remaining Freys pull up their shields and move towards the gate.

The enemy began moving up the staircase. The Crannogman's bow claimed the first man to enter the spiral steps.

One of the rescued prisoners with a silver eagle on his soiled doublet produced a stone which no doubt came from the rock basket near the stairs. The rock he hurled at the advancing men hit a man with an in his helm and caused the man to fall back on his fellow soldiers who also also fell being unable to support his weight.

She followed Qarl down the stairs and dispatched several armored men before they could recover from the shock of falling. They rushed back up the stairs as a dozen men with pikes ascended the circular stairs already littered with corpses.

Asha jumped down the stairs and diverted the closest pike to her towards the ceiling with a shield. The pike was a weapon meant to fight men on horseback in the open, but here it was unwieldly and the holder was helpless as she gutted him like a fish. Another man came up with his pike aimed lower towards her thigh determined not to repeat the mistake of the man before him. It did not matter; a crossbow bolt slammed through his open faced sallet and made a bloody mark on the wall.

Martyn Snow hurled a rock of his own with such a force that she could hear the sickening sound of crushed bone when the large rock hit a man in the skull.

That was all it took for the remaining men to break and run back down the stairs.

In what seemed to be several minutes, but was probably only that many seconds a loud fusillade of crossbows echoed through the walls. The screams of those who felt them were of surprise.

One of the prisoners laughed, "Ugly weasels can barely stay alive by killing their own, for being weasels."

Soon enough, another group came at them. With the help of the big Northern bastard she moved the now very warm but not yet boiling pot of oil and dumped it on the oncoming horde of Freys. One of the prisoners was holding a torch and quickly tossed it at the oil drenched Freys. The staircase lit up instantly and the terrible screams of burning men filled the Gatehouse.

As the screaming died down, the noise of armor clanking and the beat of galloping hooves raced underneath them. They had survived. Qarl threw off his half helm and gave a cry of joy as he looked out a port in the gatehouse.

His cry of joy turned to one of terror as a bolt sprouted from the back of his neck and lodged in the other side of the wall, its place marked with a splattering of blood.

Instinctively, she caught Qarl as he fell to the floor. It only took a quick look to know that he would not survive as blood pulsed out of the entrance made by the bolt below his smooth cheeks.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, as the Earth below her seemed to shake.

* * *

><p><strong>Jon<strong>

It was time. He spurred his horse past the open gate, his Ghost trailing close behind him. Jon unshealthed Longclaw and held it high.

A volley of half a dozen quarrels hit his horse, and he was thrown from the saddle. Somehow, none of the quarrels hit him, so aside from some bruises earned from having a horse killed under him, Jon was unscathed. By the time he recovered from the shock, His men were all around him.

Two knights helped him up, and he led the charge on foot chasing the defenders to the West Keep, which was also known as the Bastard Keep.

Much to his surprise, the doors was wide open. He ordered his men to put up their shields and close ranks which they did.

As he figured, storm of quarrels came from every possible direction, but the shields stayed in place despite the beating they took.

He stayed behind and let the vanguard advance to the end of the hall while and took to the staircase to his left. He was going to find Black Walder, and if possible Lame Lothar. Of those who arranged Robb's murder, only two still were unpunished.

Ghost raced up the stairs ahead of him and surprised the men above with the quiet stealth that had resulted in his name. Jon reached the second level where a dozen crossbowmen fired from the relative safety of the second level gallery. By that time however, Ghost had already taken out three men. The others turned their attention to the albino direwolf and were either reloading their crossbows or holding out their short swords in hope of keeping him away.

Jon ran towards one of the enemy and kicked a chamber pot that had been left around for the sake of smearing quarrels. Jon inwardly raged at the sight of it. Stannis may have recovered already if his wound had not festered, the infection did not seem fatal, but it would take longer for him to recover. The chamber pot took a man in the midsection and stunned him just long enough for Longclaw to enter him.

He quickly withdrew the blade and parried a desperate thrust from another man who did not even have time to scream when Ghost lunged at him and ripped out his throat with one sickening tear of flesh. Duncan Liddle passed him and brought his longaxe on someone who was just about to bring up his crossbow to fire.

Anyone that remained on the wraparound gallery broke and fled. Up the stairs Jon went along with his personal guard.

A knight of White Harbor was felled when he turned a corner and met the quarrel of a waiting crossbow, after reaching the next floor of the Bastard Keep.

The man behind the knight gutted the soldier behind the crossbow. Jon passed by the fallen knight and came face to face with six grizzled Frey men at arms; their coats of light mail were battered their faces haggard with desperation to survive, and a man who was clearly the Lord of the Crossing. His hair was as black as Jon's own, and his features marked him for a Frey. The tabard over his hauberk had a black field to show his personal arms as opposed to the grey of his house. He could be none other than Black Walder Frey.

"Bastard," the man snarled, but flinched when Ghost took his place beside Jon and gave that growl he usually gave when whenever someone wanted Jon dead. "Warg," he yelled almost shrieking.

For a moment they just looked at each other, Jon saw two of his champions flanking him, Ser Godry Faring and Duncan Liddle; the rest of his vanguard was either catching up or cleaning up another part of this ugly castle.

Not including Ghost, they where three facing seven on the top floor of the castle.

Then it began, they came in a rush of steel.

Ser Godry stepped up to catch the blade of one man with his shield which he used to fling the longsword towards the wall before skewering the swordless man with his own.

To his left, Duncan lifted his axe and brought it down on an incoming Frey knight, whose Kettle helm parted at the top like soft cheese.

A man came at him with a glaive. Jon released his left hand from longclaw and seized the shaft. He forced the shaft above his head, brought him closer before putting all his might into Longclaw and cutting through an already damaged shirt of mail, drawing blood.

A blur of white passed him by followed by gurgling scream, when ghost took down another.

Four of them were already down. Black Walder had flanked Godry Farring and managed to hamstring him. A man with a mace had managed to knock Duncan Liddle out of action.

While Ghost lept towards the Frey with the mace, Jon crossed swords with the man at arms closest to himself. He finished the gizzled soldier just in time to parry a quick thrust from Black Walder. He tried to bring the sword which had been knocked upwards by Jon down in a chopping move which took a surprising amount of strengh to block.

Black Walder sprung away with his blade and brought his longsword around for swing aimed at Jon's midsection which he blocked with a downward parry.

Jon swung Longclaw upwards in a deadly arc of smoking steel, and barely missed the Frey whose cat-like movement had him one step backward and leaning heavily away. He threw his strength into a wicked chop that grazed his thigh, but only managed to sever a few links of his mail. The longsword flashed in a downward motion and he brought Longclaw up to block it.

Black Walder pressed his strengh on Jon, but in fury he lept with his sword and the Lord of the Crossing stumbled. The Frey recovered quickly however and bashed Jon in the face with his shield, before tackling him and rendering Longclaw useless in such tight quarters.

Walder pulled out his dagger in a flash of movement and laughed, "Have some widow's blood boy". Before Black Walder could strike with the dagger, a set of jaws wrapped around his wrist and tore.

The Frey screamed and dropped the dagger, and when Ghost let go of his bloody wrist, man and beast looked one another in the eyes for a second that seemed to last eternity. Then Ghost overtook him tearing out his throat.

Moments later, the corpse was pulled off of him by a large man in furs and mail. A closer, more focused look showed that it was Tormund Giantsbane.

"We have the castle, har," Tormund bellowed a few who stood behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>The Greenseer Prince <strong>

It was Leaf who woke him up.

"The three-eyed crow wants to see you." Her voice seemed urgent.

Bran pulled himself up by the strong weirwood branches that hung over the bed that the children had made him. He called for Hodor.

Soon Hodor came, lifted him up into his arms and carried him. The basket that came north with them was too big for Bran now. Hodor was still scared of him Bran realized. Unless you had a strong bond with someone like Summer, It was kind scary when you had someone else in your skin. Even sweet Meera was terrified of him. When Jojen died he had told her that his work was done. Meera was so sad that she had tried to kill herself and would have done so if Bran had not entered Hodor's skin and stopped her from using a dagger.

Meera never told him that she knew about what Bran had done, but the way that she looked at him lately, told him that somehow she knew. If only Meera also knew that he loved her, Bran could not bring himself tell her though.

_I'm a much bigger kid now_, Bran reflected.

Bran knew the path to Lord Brynden's throne by heart, and soon he saw the greenseer, whose body looked as if it had lost any remaining color, save for a birthmark that somehow looked even more like a crimson raven now.

"Come, my boy … and come … quick." He was dying.

Hodor let Bran down on the ground before the greenseer throne of the three eyed crow.

"My time … is at an end. I have taught you … all I know. Today, you will become the greenseer … the first Stark on the greenseer throne in thousands of years.

As his voice weakened, his body stiffened, and his true eye which tried hard to stay open, fell shut.

_Does this make me the new three-eyed crow_, Bran wondered?

Bran tried not to squirm but couldn't help but shiver as the ravens entered the cavern and began feasting on the new corpse of Lord Brynden.

* * *

><p><strong>Melisandre<strong>

Night was falling, and this one would be longer than yesterday's. The days were getting shorter, and barely six hours of light graced the World up here.

The Long Night was coming again, Melisandre knew. Eastwatch by the Sea had fallen to an undead army resurrected by the Great Other. Word of its fall had come on a bloodied White Raven.

It would come at the worst possible time for the Watch too. In the fires she had seen a great weeping man looking out a small tower that cast a large shadow to the west. To the East she had already seen the dead coming from the sea and attacking Eastwatch. In the fires lately, she saw the wall melting by a castle ruined and dark as the surrounding night.

Melisandre was not certain of how to interpret that last vision.

Then another vision came of a thousand eyes and one disappearing from the demon trees and every manner of animal that roamed the land. But then, the fires showed her a large raven that was perched on a weirwood tree, but cast no shadow against the setting sun. He turned his head, and his eyes turned from black and mean to a blue as calm as the sea. _King_, the raven seemed to call.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: Sorry for the prolonged wait, it's pretty hard to write Melisandre, Bran, and Jon into a single chapter, thankfully this next one will be easier to write. Also, after chewing on tWoIaF, I have dozens of new story ideas that are just begging to be typed out, but I promise that this still be will be my priorty (or least until the next chapter comes out).<strong>

**Up next: Tyrion, Jaime, and Sansa.**


	17. Hearts of Stone

**Note: Well, this one was easy, despite the addition of a Sansa POV. After going through a World of Ice and Fire, this story is kind of writing itself as far as events in the Riverlands go. If you've read the reasonably detailed (but not completely reliable) accounts of events such as Aegon's Conquest, The Dance of Dragons, and the Blackfyre rebellions, or even the reign of Maegor the Cruel, you might understand why. When you have so many events set in motion that are about to go off, it's hard not to feel satisfaction at the impending parallels (or ironies) that just so happen to line up with your story. I will be including minor bits of information from the book to make story interesting. For instance, Hoster Blackwood will eventually tell a story about the kings of Trident from a Blackwood (probably my favorite minor house) perspective and maybe I'll be able to get one out of Bracken side of the story , while Aeron Damphair next chapter, will give an Ironborn perspective on kings in the riverlands. If you're wondering, the Riverlands is my favorite region, because it was clearly designed as the place where everything comes together, and has the most interesting history of all the Seven Kingdoms, save for Dorne. I don't know how I did it, but this is the longest chapter yet.**

* * *

><p><strong>Flashfoward <strong>

The captive was forced to his knees, and the sack over his face was lifted.

He was in a cave somewhere that seemed to be supported by weirwood branches.

The scout looked around and saw all variety of smallfolk of the Riverlands, but at the end of the cave he saw something ugly that sat on a throne carved of weirwood.

"This man killed three of our own," a voice came from a bearded man who wore and old nasal half-helm.

"They tried to kill me, they seemed like good game." It only took one look to realize that these folk did not seem to care for explanations. They were angry and they were cowardly. They were everything needed to make a mob in the barbaric hell hole known as the seven kingdoms. Why couldn't the rest of the world be like his homeland?

He came from a land where wars rarely lasted more than a day and brought lavish spoils to the victors. He grew up where the rum was fruity and carnal pleasures were regarded as a religion rather than something to be ashamed of.

"How do you Westerosi decide innocence?" He directed his question to a man in tattered red robes that carried himself like a red priest.

A man with a woodharp answered the question instead with a cynical smile. "We say what you're guilty of and then we decide what to do with you. It's called justice because, it's just us."

He would not survive, the prisoner knew immediately; to these men he had seen too much and would not allow him to return to the halfman.

But then the red priest spoke as if to finally answer his question, "you could also do a trial by combat, where your guilt is decided by whoever wins the trial."

The big Summer Islander laughed "I'll take that. Even if I lose, it's a better way to die. Which one of you whoresons want to fight me?"

A tall man with boyish freckles and fair hair stepped up out of the crowd. "Are you good with that bow?" He gestured towards his bow which the outlaws had taken off of him. "I always wanted to see a Summer Islander shoot a goldenheart bow."

* * *

><p><strong>Tyrion<strong>

The loud crack indicated that the gate had been breached. His bodyguard dropped the ram by the side of the breached gate, and led the charge into the town of Stoney Sept.

The defenders had mostly been caught off guard, not expecting him to strike for at least another day or at least until sunrise. 1,600 men had arrived in the dead of night, and stopped only long enough for a ram to be fashioned. Ordinarily Tyrion would not have pushed the men this hard, but his rage was fierce and he would strike while it was still hot.

After overcoming the sentries at the gate, they met no resistance save for a few wild arrows. Tyrion could tell that they had not planned for Lyn Corbray's death, and the unprepared incompetence of whoever was now in charge showed.

They made their way to the market square, which was marked by a great statue of a fish in the center. A dozen defenders tried to run, but upon hearing the sound of cavalry flanking around the square, they threw down their arms and yielded. Tyrion ordered them to be put in fetters; he would decide what to do with them later.

Tyrion rode up the hill and with a Myrish eye he spied what could be twenty to forty men in the town holdfast. With fifteen horsemen by his side, he rode out and challenged the garrison.

"Open the gates if you want to live."

"Damned if I will, I've orders to hold this here holdfast till Ser Lyn comes back." A man whose rough manners and small sense of authority marked him as a hedge knight responded. His accent also marked him as a man of the Vale.

A laugh came from one of his men, "your baby fucking knight is dead." The voice came from Xantho, a Summer Islander with skin almost as dark as his black armor. "And I killed him." He pulled out his goldenheart bow, "with this."

Tyrion drew the Valyrian blade that he had taken off the body of Lyn Corbray, it was nearly as tall as he was.

"Did he perchance carry this?" Tyrion asked the hedge knight mockingly. One of his bodyguards rode closer and moved his torch so that the sword could be better seen by the defenders.

The soft gasp told him that word of Lyn Corbray's death at the Stoney ridge had not yet reached them, though they had known about the battle itself.

"You have one chance to yield; otherwise he can tell you what happened when you find him in the seven hells."

The hedge knight reluctantly struck the Corbray banner that flew over the holdfast, and in short time, the gates opened

Tyrion allowed a grin despite recent events. They were moving quickly, and this town was the key to breaking through the web that Littlefinger had weaved in the area. Once Stoney Sept fell, the army would have much deserved shelter. From here he could strike north to Riverrun and link up with Tytos Blackwood, who was holding Riverrun with a token garrison in the name of Queen Daenarys.

Tyrion knew that this was a tricky ground to tread. The Blackwoods would support him, of that he had no doubt and maybe even both branches of house Vance, but the Brackens, and Pipers would oppose him tooth and nail. It was also said that the Mallisters had taken their men north to besiege the Twins with Stannis.

If he held Riverrun and Stoney Sept, he could cut off Littlefinger from the Westerlands. As far as Tyrion knew there was a succession crisis after the death of Devan Lannister, as Cersei was unable to name the new lord of the West.

Many of the Western lords were greatly dissatisfied with the rule of Cersei Lannister and balk at the rule of a man as low born as Littlefinger, and maybe Tyrion would be able to persuade a few to join him.

After all Tyrion was no more kinslayer than Cersei was, the deaths of Kevan and Lancel Lannister had sparked great discontent among them.

Tyrion entered the holdfast with his personal bodyguard as well as two score of infantry that had formed around the walls by that point.

The knight took one knee and offered his sword, which Tyrion accepted.

"The Stoney Sept is yours my lord." Tyrion barked an order for the man to led to a respectable confinement.

The disarmed prisoners were led into the barn of the holdfast, when Tyrion turned to a messenger for the Second Sons. He asked one of his sergeants if there were any stocks in the holdfast larders, and was elated to learn that twenty casks of ale and enough food to feast them all for a fortnight were in this small holdfast.

"Which parts of the town still hold out?"

"Only the Sept hill, my lord," the messenger responded.

_Maybe they are sparrows after all_

He ordered Bronn to look after the holdfast and the prisoners and made sure that Hoster would get a good room appropriated from one of the inns a place called The Peach, before riding out towards the sept for which the town was named for, with Lord Sunglass and his retainers in tow.

On the way, he ordered thirty-odd survivors of Tumco Lho's company to follow him, and was soon joined by another thirty of the Golden Men. The procession arrived at the foot of the hill without incident.

He surveyed the scene before him, four members of the Second Sons had been killed in an ambush and their bodies bore mute testament of surprise.

The Second Sons were on the hill waiting outside the sept but did not move to enter the building.

Brown Ben who was dismounted sauntered up towards him.

"What shall we do, Lord Hand?" Brown Ben drawled despite everything.

"Take the sept I suppose," Tyrion spoke irritably.

"We don't have a ram yet, and there's a knight of the Faith who says the men hiding in there are under his protection. I'm damned sure that those are survivors of the Stoney Ridge."

_Well, isn't that nice,_ thought Tyrion? "I understand your caution Brown Ben, but these Sparrows need to learn their place, and the law of sanctuary is not going to protect those faith pretenders or the Warrior's Sons for that matter."

"What do you plan on doing about it," Brown Ben asked shrewdly.

"We will burn this sept to the ground." Tyrion responded coldly.

"My Lord," a Knight bearing the crest of house Sunglass cried in horror. "There are innocent townsfolk in there; if you burn the place you will kill them all."

Tyrion could only feel himself shrug. "The soldiers in there don't wear sigils; they are dressed as peasants hoping to escape, my reach. I'm going to kill them all. The Father above will know his own." He quickly bid for his Volantene squire to return to the holdfast, this was something he didn't need to see.

He asked the closest rider for a torch, which he got. He rode closer to the door and ordered a cart of hay that he had seen on the street behind him.

Soon it came and was parked in front of the Stoney Sept's only entrance.

He took a look at the faces of the men that surrounded him. Some showed agreement, while others showed horror. His eyes fell on a Tyroshi with a beard of red that was almost pink. Tied to the back of his saddle was the turncoat Ser Bennard Brune, who had infiltrated his ranks.

This had Littlefinger's dirty fingers all over it. He would soon have to send a raven to Barristan Selmy, who was governing King's Landing in the Queen's absence, to seize Littlefinger's brothels and purge Ser Bennard's household that he left in the city.

Tyrion wondered how Ser Barristan would respond to the order. Barristan had shown a reluctant willingness to commit necessary evils while he ruled Meeren. Barristan still strongly disliked him, but had given him much respect after Tyrion had helped him discover the identity of the Harpy. The white knight's shock from learning that the Harpy was a priestess older than him was a sweet memory for Tyrion.

The muscular Tyroshi knocked the tied knight from the back of the saddle and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic before he hit the ground. Two golden men dismounted and seized him. Tyrion ordered Ser Bennard to be put in the hay cart, which they did quickly.

The man was shivering fiercely as a result of the sickness caused by his wounds, not to mention that someone had stripped him of a fine cloak that he had worn earlier. Brune was begging for mercy that fell on uncaring ears.

He felt his gaze drift to the girl who sat the horse next to him.

What was her name? Jeyne, Jeyne Rivers was her name.

He bade the girl to approach him, which she did timidly. He handed her the torch, "you were Ser Tumco's squire?"

She nodded. Tyrion handed her the torch. "Do the honors."

The bastard looked like she wanted to ride away and disappear at that moment, but after hesitating she threw the torch into the cart, and then turned her horse riding back into the ranks. The music of the fire grew as the flames went higher and higher, but could not drown out the screaming of the condemned man in the wagon.

Tyrion turned his horse away rode a few steps down the hill towards Xantho, "Be sure to shoot anyone that tries to get away."

The big Summer Islander nodded and Tyrion turned to address the crowd. "The Mockingbird brought generous stores to Stoney Sept, and that includes twenty casks of ale."

A ragged cheer went up in the ranks of the soldiers, but at that moment Tyrion could not fail to notice tension the Sunglass retainers, and some the Basilisk's people had with his Golden men and the Second Sons.

Part of him wished that he had kept Hubbard Sunglass and his band of pious fools at the holdfast, but at the same time they needed to learn the realities of war. Did the Warrior make knights for the singers and maidens? The Andals spread their faith by their warriors just as much they did by their maiden princesses, the Warrior made knights to kill.

But war made monsters out of men, and soon they would be ready to do their duty in the moment of truth rather than hesitate as they did hours before at the Stoney Ridge.

The air became heavy with smoke after a brief gust of wind blew smoke in his direction. The fire in the sept however, had many out here coming closer for the warmth. The night sky above him was clear but the winds were getting stronger and there was a storm coming from the east that would be over here by sunrise as the clouds showed.

Only the screams of those inside the sept prevented many of them from getting closer still and enjoying the warmth.

He saw a flash of movement as Xantho pulled out his bow and fired a shot from his horse. Tyrion turned and saw a man, dying on the ground with an arrow firmly planted into his side. He had tried to climb out of the burning sept but was felled with by Xantho.

A second son moved towards the man and swiftly cut his throat. After searching the man, the sellsword claimed a blade that was found on his corpse. _I doubt the father will vouchsafe for that poor soul_, thought Tyrion.

"It's getting a little warm here, shall we put it out." Tyrion addressed the Second Sons, because it was their running joke. In Volantis many of the Oldblood had retreated to the Citadel of the Triarchs where they thought that they would be safe. He had burned the fortified palace itself by lobbing several fire bombs the Second Sons created with substances almost as unstable as wildfire. When many burning nobles threw themselves from the battlements, the second sons would piss on the bodies of the fallen.

And so many of the Second Sons loosened their company steel, and opened their breaches. Unfortunately for those still inside the sept, nobody was even able to piss far enough to reach any fires.

* * *

><p><strong>Sansa<strong>**  
><strong>

"Lord Regent Petyr Baelish, first of his name, will now hear you now, Lord Garlan." Ser Lothar Brune's voice which seemed to boom through the Cavernous Hall of a Hundred Hearths, bore a strange contrast to his often soft-spoken demeanor.

Garlan Tyrell, who looked exactly as she remembered, tried not to flinch at the term "lord regent." He reluctantly took one knee. "My lord, my men have travelled a long way from Highgarden, it would please me greatly to see them all fed, and sheltered.

"Rise my lord, it shall be granted." Littlefinger, spoke with a voice as sweet as spring.

Garlan Tyrell did as bid, and allowed a grin as he acknowledged Margaery's presence. Margaery in turn gave a radiant smile of her own, a real smile that met her eyes.

Sansa took note of those who were present by their spot by the daïs Margaery was the only person they called queen here. Queen Cersei had suddenly come down with a mysterious sickness that Tommen somehow had as well. Sansa did not believe in coincidences anymore. Tommen would slowly die from too much sweetsleep, it may have killed Sweetrobin had Sansa not began sharing food from Sweetrobin's plate. After she began doing that, Sweetrobin's health began to improve. Of course, leaving the Eyrie had been good for him too. His shaking fits did not seem to happen as often here. Robyn was now figiting as a boy at age with Tommen who wanted to be somewhere else.

Cersei was probably just underfed so that she did not have the strength to resist Petyr. Even though few things would have pleased Sansa more than Cersei Lannister's death, Sansa for some reason felt a small but nagging sense of pity for the queen. She did not cheer or gloat when the time came for the bedding ceremony after the wedding feast as Margaery and Lanna did. The screams of anguish that came through the door of the marriage chamber still haunted her. Cersei would bore Petyr his heir, even as he killed Tommen, and would arrange an accident for her when she was no longer needed.

Ser Harrold Hardying had a seat behind her and she could feel his eyes on her. Ever since her true identity was revealed at the Littlefinger's wedding, Harry the Heir was constantly fawning over her and even made a solemn pledge of chastity. She wasn't sure if he had already made one. It may have been half a year and one bastard ago. She could feel his gaze and it felt a little uncomfortable. She had felt his hungry eyes long enough to know how he was feeling, like that time during the wedding feast when she danced with Podrick Payne just to keep him from the queen. Harry seemed offended that she had asked someone to dance, and the cruel look he gave Podrick still made her insides shiver.

Myranda Royce was sitting next to him. Sansa was certain that she had bedded Harry. It didn't really bother Sansa that much though. Sansa did not want to marry Harry but he was possibly the best match a widowed Randa could hope for, and he was still heir to the Vale as he would be for a long time. If Robyn was anything like his own father, it would be many years before he begot an heir, if he ever had one. On the other hand, Harry seemed as capable as men got. He had two bastard daughters and a son if not more natural children.

Afterwards, Garlan left the hall to look after his men.

The rest of the time in which Baelish held court passed as if in a strange dream. Sansa noticed that Margaery did not seem to lose interest, while Lanna, who was now a legitimized Lannister appeared irritable for the rest of court.

When it ended Margaery approached Lanna, "I saw you looking at Garlan."

"You have a very comely brother." Lanna tried not to speak with her Braavosi accent, but her Braavosi origins were still as plain as day.

"He is a dear brother, but he is already married and expecting a child soon." Predictably, Lanna's face betrayed a small look of dismay.

"But, now that you're a legitimized Lannister, you would be an ideal match for our brother Willas."

Something about that statement gave Sansa goosebumps. Part of her wanted nothing more than to be married to Willas Tyrell and live out her days in Highgarden with their children. But Sansa knew from experience that this would not end well, and decided that she did not want to have much to do with the Tyrells. She would have to talk to Lanna later.

Margaery had a careful tongue and never said much about the events surrounding Joffrey's death. It was almost as if she feared that Cersei would break free of her bondage.

"What is Willas like?" Lanna asked with curiosity.

Sansa felt deaf to the story that Margaery was telling. The truth was that the Lanna now had a claim, and the Tyrells were going to take it, all they needed now was the death of Tyrion Lannister. The same way the Lannisters needed Robb to die. The irony of it all nearly made her laugh.

Sansa walked away from it all and came face to face with Brienne of Tarth. The helm she wore still gave Sansa pause at the memory of Joffrey's dog. Brienne was wearing the helm as she did more often than not to hide her disfigured face.

_But the Hound didn't care what he looked like_, in fact she was nowhere near as terrifying as Sandor Clegane.

"My lady, I need a word."

Sansa looked around and realized that this was the first time she had truly been alone with this woman who for many strange reasons reminded her so much of the Hound, and not just because she wore the helmet. The Maid of Tarth was tall and broad-shouldered, her face horribly disfigured.

"What happened to him?" She asked, "The man who wore that helmet."

"I killed him," Brienne said without sadness or glee. "He was holding your sister hostage."

"Arya?" Sansa could not remember the last time that she had mentioned her lost sister.

"That was her, I killed that rotten scoundrel in single combat, but your sister ran in the choas. She was afraid of me. Podrick tracked her down to Saltpans, but by then she was gone across the Narrow Sea. The townsfolk think that the ship went to Braavos."

Brienne told the story about the oath she had sworn to her mother and the journeys she had taken. Sansa listened intently as Brienne told her about all that the Maid of Tarth had done to find her. When Brienne talked about her time in the feared Brotherhood without Banners, Sansa could tell that Brienne was leaving something out, but Sansa had a feeling that it was something she did not want to know about. Sansa had been suprised to learn that Arya was not only alive, but had been with the brotherhood for sometime before being kidnapped by the Hound, and disappearing once more. Sansa wondered what life would have been like had she agreed to flee the capital with the hound. Sansa did not regret refusing however, she realized. It would have been foolish and rash to leave with the Hound she had to admit, especially considering his end. Besides Ser Dontos had offered the same, but he had rescued her for a bag of dragons, but had been paid with a quarrel.

Mostly Brienne talked about her time with shy Podrick who was Tyrion's squire, and Jaime Lannister to whom she had returned a sword named Oathkeeper. Sansa was certain that Brienne was in love with that man. _The father of Joffrey,_ Sansa did not say. She recalled that Cersei and Brienne did not get along and decided that was why.

When Brienne had told Sansa all that she was willing to tell "I swore an oath to return you to your mother but…" The tall maid paused as if afraid to admit what had happened to her mother. "Catelyn Stark is dead, so Jaime and I agreed to bring you to safety if we found you, are you safe?"

She could sense the lie, but there was truth to it. It was the kind of lie Littlefinger called the Spider's lie, when a person was telling the truth about something but, they meant something else. Sansa did not want to press it but, she also sensed fear when her mother's name came up.

What Sansa did not know was how to answer the question; the truth was that nobody was safe.

* * *

><p><strong>Jaime<strong>

The impact of the boat making land was quite jarring this time. Jaime did not have much energy and the winter storm had weakened him greatly.

That did not change the fact that he had to abandon this boat now, the brotherhood was on his trail, and unless he was mistaken, he also saw occasional bands of horseman from the Vale who seemed to be looking for someone who could be him.

He should not have stopped at that inn; it had Brotherhood without Banners written for all to see.

Jaime stumbled out of the boat and fell into the freshly fallen snow. When he got up, he looked around and noticed that he there was a hill in front of him, but the storm made it difficult for him to see much in front of him.

He walked up the steep hill of the island, and sure enough saw what appeared to be a small village. There was something different about this village but, Jaime could not put his golden hand on it.

The first thing he noticed was a man in brown roughspun wool splitting firewood from the safety of a barn which held a few horses in the stalls to the side.

He moved quietly towards the barn, and moved inside without a sound. He took a rest briefly behind the haystack. It felt so good however that it was hard to get up and find out which horse would carry him away from here the fastest.

Jaime knew he could hide from the man, who was splitting the wood. One of the horses, an ill-tempered black stallion began making a fuss. Damned horses, Jaime realized. He should have remembered that horses often sense people before their riders do.

Those who listened to their horses survived ambushes more often than not. Criston Cole, the Kingmaker may have been able to save himself had the sight of corspes real and fake had not drawn him into complacency. But Criston Cole, the Lord Commander for the Kingsguard for Aegon II and his hand was killed at the battle of Crossed Elms when Rodrick Dustin's Winter Wolves pretended to be corpses and felled him before he could react.

The woodsplitter did not even turn when he spoke.

"If you thinking of stealing him, you picked a bad fucking time to do it," the raspy voice of the speaker gave Jaime pause. "Chances are that Stranger will throw you off before you try to make him swim off the island."

What, he was on an island? Honestly, it wasn't like he could tell out there.

And that voice, he knew that voice.

Jaime tried to speak but could only gasp.

"If you thought you could just sneak up on him, then you're not a good horse thief." The man turned and Jaime realized just how strong he was, _and ugly too. _He removed his hood and revealed the burned half of his face.

He recovered his shock, "Sandor Clegane, is that truly you?"

The Hound laughed, "It's been a long time since anyone called me that Kingslayer."

* * *

><p><strong>Next up: Jon Connington, Arianne, and Aeron<strong>

**Note: considering how much GRRM bases asoiaf on War of the Roses, i'm surprised that law of sanctuary has not been invoked yet.**

**Just for fun, if you could see a duel between two wielders of Valyrian Steel in this story, who would they be and which blades would they carry.**


	18. The Gathering Storm

**Flashforward**

It floated down the river, several planks that somehow still stayed nailed together. On one of the planks a dagger stood upright, rooted deep in the faintly stained wood. Hiked up to the hilt of the dagger was an eyepatch stained in blood.

All around, the sound of crows could be heard for miles away.

* * *

><p><strong>Aeron <strong>

He opened the door to the inn that stood in the shadow of Seagard. This was no ordinary Greenland settlement. This was the place where Balon's oldest son and heir, Rodrick had died not thirteen years past. Lord Jason Mallister, the man who had had slain him still lived as the lord of that castle.

Though many said that locals were part Ironborn, the emnity between the Mallisters and ironborn ran deep and ancient. He would not be too surprised at the idea; the Ironborn had long reaved and raped these lands even before the days of house Hoare.

The Hoares had ruled the Riverlands for three generations until they were challenged by Aegon the Conqueror. As far as Aeron was concerned, Harren the Black deserved his fate. They were false kings, their blood darkened with the taint of Andals, and in many ways they acted like greenlanders. Reaving was shamefully forbidden by the Hoare Kings who were more interested in forging a kingdom of their own in the land Aeron now stood in. The seven faced demons were even allowed on the islands and would not be expelled until well into the Targaryen years. When it came to ruling, they succeeded not by Ironborn courage, but by extreme cruelty and cunning much like his own godless brother who sat the Seastone Chair by a mere right of force.

The men inside looked away due to draft of winter wind, and were greatful that he closed the door quickly. He made his way towards the small hearth that a most in the room were huddled around.

The Damphair as the Drowned men called him had very dry hair save for the snow that was melting. Gone, was the seaweed in his hair and the robes that marked him for a priest of the Drowned God. The clothes he wore did not betray his Ironborn origins. His long hair, and flowing beard were untrimmed, as they would not be unusual in this winter.

A tired man of who appeared to be a few years younger than Aeron, entered the tavern, and he felt a quick blast of cold air. He quickly shut the door, and Aeron nearly went cold when he noticed the coat of mail, and the crude Mallister livery he wore under his loose furs.

One of the sitters in the inn gave the stranger a look, and smiled. "Got any news from the Crossing, Petyr?"

The Mallister sergeant named Petyr, shrugged "Have you heard Pate, the Freys are dead, Stannis holds the Crossing." The conversation brought Aeron to the present.

The men in the room displayed little emotion at the statement until one of the men spoke. "I never liked them anyway; the old goat wanted my daughter's virute as a toll, when I needed to take some furs from White Harbor to Fairmarket."

"How did Lord Walder die anyhow?" One of the men asked.

The soldier laughed and shrugged, "who knows, people are saying that he choked on his trout dinner, when he heard that the castle was breached. I couldn't tell you what really happened, his body was dumped in the river for some reason before they could get to it, and we didn't even take part in the battle. We just waited outside of the castle until we heard that Ser Patrek was okay."

Another townsman shook his head, "did they capture him again?"

The soldier nodded, "The king's own Onion Knight rescued him from a Frey dungeon, with the help of a squid bitch."

The insult these lesser men gave to members of House Greyjoy irratated the damphair, but he was eager to hear the story, for it must have been Asha.

* * *

><p><strong>Jon Connington<strong>

Before him stood Highgarden, with its three walls made of finest marble, there were few castles that bore such a distinct impression on the plains of the Reach. A castle as spotless white as a castle can be.

Before Aegon turned his attention to King's Landing, the Tyrells needed to be dealt with. Jon Connington had always disliked the Tyrells. Their liege lord Mace Tyrell took credit for the only battle fought in the Reach, and it was long over when the main force arrived thanks to Randyll Tarly. They could have made all the difference had they been at the Trident. Rhaegar would most likely still be alive and sitting the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms would not have been the mess they were today.

The rainbows of a peace banner of the Seven flew over the land which was lightly frosted over this morning. It was time to parley.

His coming had forced the Ironborn who were on the verge of assualting the three walled citadel, to beat a hasty withdrawal. Who knew where they went, but it did not matter, the Ironborn where not in a position to stand toe-to-toe against their army, even someone as audacious as Euron Crow's Eye had to back down. As far as he was concerned, the Tyrells owed Aegon big time.

At the head of the Tyrell delegation, was Mace Tyrell. Even with one in five bannermen remaining, he was unfailingly pompous.

The fat flower dismounted from his horse, and gave a superflously elegant bow.

"You have the honor to speak to Mace Tyrell, the lord of Highgarden, and warden of the South."

_A lord of a beleaguered castle with no friends left, you mean._ He didn't say.

He didn't have to, for Aegon spoke his mind. "Greetings my lord, I congratulate you on your victory at Storm's End, both times that is." Aegon spoke with a drawl faintly spiced with the accents of Dorne, which was intended to inflame the Reachmen.

He had spent too much time around the Dornish, especially his wife and cousin Arianne. They should not have allowed her to marry Aegon, but she was ambitious, nearly as much as Mace Tyrell's own daughter, who held a talent for juggling husbands and kings. Aegon was wrapped around her like a Dornish snake and once again a perfectly good Targaryen ended up with a Dornish wife. But at least Jon loved Aegon in a different way than he did Rhaegar.

The only good thing about the marriage was that it forced Prince Doran to act. Prince Doran was much more cautious than Jon Connington was, but his reckless daughter made sure that he could not back out of the wars.

Jon Connington managed to keep his face stiff. Inwardly, he was proud of Aegon, as the pompous grin left Mace Tyrell's face

The Young Dragon as some in the Reach called him had won more battles within a year, than Mace Tyrell had fought in forty. The term gave Griff discomfort, for there had been another young dragon many years before.

"I will say this once my lord, open your gates and strike your banners, and I will allow your house to remain wardens of the South. You will be permitted to join the Night's Watch, so that your son Willas can mend relationships with his discontented former bannermen."

The Fat Flower blanched at the terms. No doubt a hard life on the wall in the dead of winter was unthinkable for him. He was a fool however, if he thought that the noble houses of the Reach would swear fealty to him again. Even Mace Tyrell's good family, the Hightowers had been adamant that Mace Tyrell be removed from Highgarden. In their case, they favored Willas Tyrell, his heir who was half Hightower himself as the new warden of the South. Others such as the Oakhearts and Rowans proposed the Tyrells yield their claim to Highgarden to someone of a superior claim such as themselves. Those selfish peach eating bastards always wanted more then what they had, that was for certain.

"And what if I refuse?" The Fat Flower's face was red with rage at the idea.

Aegon looked as if he was waiting for the question, and grinned. "One way or another Highgarden will change hands, if you want it to go to a family member or not, the choice is yours. Nobody wants you for their liege lord and besides, we would have had this parley, if you had accompanied my father to the Trident." Jon Connigton did not fail to notice the iron in his tone, "Highgarden was given to your family by another Aegon, and it can be given to someone much more loyal, because when old lords die, new ones can be made."

With that, the fat coward spoke of the need to confer with his family and fled, to the only place he could retreat.

Jon Connington gave smiled at the boy who he refused to believe was anyone's son but Rhaegar's.

* * *

><p><strong>Arianne<strong>

Tiny balls of hardened ice fell from the sky and now dotted the surroundings of the Stormlands. It never rained like this in Dorne.

The previous night; they camped by the ruins of Summerhall. There, Daemon Sand, her first lover had unearthed a dragon egg from the haunted ruins. The egg would be a wonderful present for Aegon, but she still could not shake the sullen looks she got from the locals after getting it. _Not even death is sacred to the Dornish_, they seemed to say. The egg itself, looked like something pulled from a burned tomb, it's scaly exterior warped by the sheer heat that killed so many here.

Summerhall was a place the locals avoided. Its use as a summer palace for the Targaryens had ended abruptly when Aegon the unlikely had tried to hatch seven dragons. Few survived that day, and those who did refused to speak of it.

Aegon V was considered by many half a peasant himself. Her own husband practically idolized him for his the life he had lived as a young boy too far down the Targaryen line to be considered a claimant to the Iron Throne. The Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, was once a hedge knight too, and called himself Duck.

Before Summerhall that king had ruled Westeros through a difficult time, but not one as difficult as this. His sympathy for the smallfolk had led him to initiate many reforms that furthered unrest in the seven kingdoms.

Many of his new laws were well reiceved in Dorne, where the small but elsewhere some lords even called their banners against their king. Aegon was determined to have his way, and decided that the only way to realize his dreams was to have dragons.

Sadly his dreams ended here, and the last of the reforms he once championed where abolished by Tywin Lannister himself.

She shivered ever so slightly as a gust of wind blew across the vale at the head of the Boneway. Tywin Lannister was warm, wherever he was, of that she had no doubt.

Arianne was on her way to the Reach where she would meet her husband, who would soon be a father with a few turns of the babe in her tummy had been showing for a few weeks now.

In truth she was coming to speak with Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden and a longtime friend of her uncle Oberyn. The Crippled Flower, as Obara had called him, wanted to negiotiate with her as queen, before Aegon's hand and father figure, laid seige to Highgarden. The letter expressed strong concern about the decisions of his father, whose greed was well known in Sunspear.

"He wants to bend his crippled knee before his family loses everything," Obara had told her.

Arianne hoped it was warmer in Highgarden.

**Sorry that it's a short chapter, but I just could not think of much to add but the bare bones of my outline. Updates are slow going at this point, partly because i'm going to be busy for roughly three weeks, but also because I have another story "When Winter Fell" that I started (This one's in books section).**

**next up: Cersei, Asha and Barristan (finally).**


	19. Queenmaker

**Asha**

"Nuncle, Aeron, is that you?" Asha somehow resisted the urge to laugh at the sight of Aeron Damphair. His appearance was barely recognizable, gone was the seaweed in his hair. His long scraggly beard trimed. Furs were worn in the place of the robes traditionally worn by priests of the drowned god.

All the changes made his long, bony, and perpetually sour face more visable.

"Why are you here, on the greenlands?" Asha asked her youngest uncle.

Aeron hesitated for a moment before speaking. Your uncle Victarion is gone, dead from that fool's errand Euron sent him on. There is no one left to dispute his claim to the Seastone Chair."

His voice almost trailed off, "I need your help."

* * *

><p><strong>Cersei<strong>

"My queen, it may be too soon to tell, but I believe that you're with child." The maester squirmed irritably as he spoke.

The Grey Sheep as Qyburn called them loved her not. The Citadel liked Qyburn even less.

"Thank you maester, that will be all for now." Cersei barely managed to contain the disgust in her voice. The only thing worse than bearing the child of that lowborn snake, was the fact that even as he spoke, her death was growing in her belly and Tommen's too.

It may have been too soon to know, but in her heart she agreed. It seemed strange to think about, Maggy the Frog had said that she would only have three children. Cersei wondered not for the first time if that witch was wrong, about something. Maybe she would have a fourth child, and maybe the rest of the prophecy would be not happen. But, it was also likely that the child would never enter the world alive.

The skinny maester went as quickly as he could without running.

Cersei dearly wished that she could get her hands on some Moon Tea, and she knew all too well how to brew it. In Littlefinger's absense the maester had been instructed to keep a keen eye on any ingredients needed. Cersei had been married to Littlefinger's littlefinger for nearly a moon's turn, and she noticed that he rarely missed anything.

In the spacious courtyard, thousands were being marshalled to formally assert his control over the Riverlands. She would make her move once they were well away.

Tyrion the little monster, had taken Stoney Sept not a fortnight past from a small army led by Lyn Corbray.

For a week she had fallen for false hope when a letter from Stoney Sept claimed to have taken the Imp alive in an ambush an hour's ride away.

When a messenger arrived with the head that should have by rights been her Valonqar's, it was in fact the head of Lyn Corbray, with a taunting message stuffed in the dead man's mouth.

Littlefinger would be going west under the pretext of holding a feast at Riverrun where he would meet with many of the Riverlords as well as many Western lords who should have been her bannermen had she not been a woman.

Few would believe the pretext, but it of course it still sounded better than marching on a queen's hand. Especially, when that queen had dragons.

Despite the emnity Cersei felt towards the Targaryen queen, part of her could not help but root for the young dragon queen. Certainly she envied the woman. If any of the Grey Sheep tried to explain that a woman could not sit the Iron Throne, she would only need to call for one of her dragons, and remind that order of old wrinkled cowards that true power came from force.

She would remind the world, of that when she overcame all to get to Ser Robert Strong, her silent giant. She only needed to get past the guards at the door and search a few floors up in the Kingspyre tower, find him. The knight would be with her son and then she would have to get past that manipulative bitch of a good-daughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Barristan<strong>

The air was chilled in here, and not just from the cold.

A handful of prisoners were shown into the Ballroom of Maegor's Holdfast by a line of Gold Cloaks. With the absense of the queen and her hand, the governance of King's Landing fell to him. The presence of the City Watch still made him uneasy but he did not fear them, after all he had killed one of them once with nothing but his bared hands.

He hated dealing with spies, or really any kind of cloak and dagger work.

A raven arrived from Stoney Sept, ordering the purge of the Brune household in King's Landing. The Brunes of Brownhollow had turned their cloaks during a battle, and they were one of Littlefinger's many tricks, Tyrion Lannister had claimed. Not surprisingly, those sworn to the Brunes of Brownhollow were found in a rundown house in Flea Bottom that whose ownership was only determined after many inquiries to be none other than lord Baelish.

They evidence of their guilt had been overwhelming. Among the many damning pieces of evidence, was a list written in neat handwriting that was most likely that of Petyr Baelish. The list contained a list of contacts he had in the city.

One of his knights had checked out the names and to no surprise, nearly half of those in the contact list were members of the city watch. He had spoken with the commander of the City Watch beforehand, to ensure that the twenty odd names of those on Littlefinger's list were present. They lined the walls of the room on the left side.

Others were merchants, captains, customs officials and impoverished petty lords, even hedge knights who would be willing to sell their services for unknightly deeds.

A search of the house had yielded other things such as a crude map of the passages under the Red Keep.

Worse of all, was another list found of potential targets one of whom was him.

He had faced possible death to many times to fear it on the battlefield, but the idea of someone sneaking through the tunnels killing him in his sleep was unsettling. And it had been done before, of that old knight did not doubt. Even before the Dance of Dragons, the secret passages that Maegor had made were not secret enough.

On that same list, there were some targets, who in fact had died recently. Some had died under suspicious circumstances, but most had died of natural causes. It least they appeared natural.

The Stranger had taken two of his knights, the brave men born on distant shores and often into slavery in such a manner. One was a captain of the city watch who had fallen to his death when he slipped off the city walls one icy morning. Another while another, an aged Qartheen who had just been awarded Sharp Point, had his heart fail in a brothel that happened to be an establishment of Littlefinger's.

At that moment the burden of ruling King's Landing was surely felt. Small wonder Aerys II had gone insane in this atmosphere of paranoia.

The woman had hair black as a raven, and blue eyes that showed only a flicker of fear.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Part of him wanted to blame Tywin Lannister's son whose order to purge the households of several traitors, which resulted in her discovery and capture. It went against everything in him to condemn any woman, but the evidence of her crimes was overwhelming.

"You have been found guilty of murder, and spying for an enemy of the crown." He felt himself hesitate before continuing. "Do you have anything to say before I pass the sentence?"

She had been waiting for a chance to speak, he could tell. She offered a thin smile, but it did not seem to reach her eyes.

"My lord husband has a shadow over us all and would be very upset if anything happened to me."

"And who would your lord husband be?" The old knight allowed a tone of skepticism in his voice.

"His name is Tyrion Lannister, and I am his wife and the mother of his trueborn daughter."

The pug nosed Grandmaester Marwyn who had been named to the small council over the objections of the Citadel whose loyalty to Daenerys was a jape best, cleared his throat.

"Our lord hand is already married, and such a marriage could not have been made with the existence of a previous marriage. Lord Tyrion had asked me to look into records of his prior marriage, and found that it had been formally annuled after the ascent of the usurper Robert Baratheon, and a new high septon."

She gave a look of scorn at the maester, "Our marriage was consumated, but Tywin Lannister ignored the laws of gods and men for some kind of honor". Barristan was certain that it was a ploy to escape punishment, but the bitterness in her voice was real.

Barristan felt himself inwardly sigh. No matter what his choice was in this judgement, choas would result. If he punished her as she deserved, though he would rather not do, Tyrion Lannister would hear of it soon, and the consequences would be ones Daenerys Targaryen could ill afford at the moment. If he did not punish her, than Daenerys would be wroth at him for taking someone else's side. Neither decision would cause less trouble than it created.

Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen had a strange relationship, and not a very healthy one either. They both claimed to be completely unlike their fathers, but Dany had ruled her conquests lately with her the ambitious vigor her father once had in her younger years. She was determined to be the greatest Targaryen monarch that ever existed. Thankfully, her ideas seemed less grandiose, or at least attainable compared to those of Aerys.

The hand of the king, ruled too with great energy. Though Tyrion Lannister was not without mercy, he dealt brutality at nearly every turn. Much like his own sire, Tyrion did not just play the game of thrones to win, he played it to be feared. _Love did not save me from the noble throngs of King's Landing when Cersei came for my head,_ he had once told him.

They both behaved like their fathers did at their age, but they had a level of distrust much deeper than their forebears did before the rebellion. The only thing keeping them from turning on one another, was that they depended on one another for backing.

History did not repeat itself, it rhymed as Barristan had long ago decided. If Daenerys was Rhaenrya reborn, then Tyrion was her uncle and later husband Daemon, who was as close as Targaryens came to both sides of the coin that the seven above flipped for the birth of every Targaryen.

And soon they might come to blows.

* * *

><p><strong>Sansa<strong>

"I will send for you as soon as we reach Riverrun," he pulled her close and gave her what he called a fatherly kiss.

_I'm not your daughter anymore. _She didn't say, did it matter anymore? Those who wanted the favor of Littlefinger, called her lady Baelish, which still gave her a queer chill.

Petyr Baelish, lord protector of the Vale, Lord paramount of the Riverlands, and lord regent of the seven kingdoms, was dressed for war. The ornate suit of light plate armor that he wore, seemed ill suited to a man such as Littlefinger who normally fought his battles with whispers and songs.

On his head was an open faced sallet fashioned in the style of the Riverlands, crowned with a thin circlet of gold to indicate his role as lord protector of the realm.

He moved down the steps of the Kingsprye Tower, and climbed a destrier that was held for him by a squire.

Nearby was lord Garlan Tyrell, she did not fail to notice that he acted different now, from the man she had known in King's Landing long ago. His armor was also very beautiful as befitting for a son of the Reach.

"My lady," he called in a low voice.

She got closer, aware of his quiet undertone. "I know you must be angry at my family for what we did to you."

"Your family saved me from King's Landing," Sansa's reply was unthinking and automatic.

The handsome man who had just seen thirty namedays, only gave her a look of silent dismay.

"We sent you from one evil man to the arms of another."

If it were any other Tyrell, she would have been certain of some test by Littlefinger to ensure her devout loyalty.

"We cried your head, we called for your husband's head. We called for the blood of innocents to keep our own hands clean. Even now your husband need only die so that we have a claim to Casterly Rock.

_Sweetling, your must never allow your hands to get dirty_, she could hear Petyr's voice in her head.

There was poison in your hairnet. Poison that you wore visibly, to the wedding. We could have smuggled it into the wedding ourselves easily, but we had to put the blame on some one else.

I was the I commited the murder, the one that every man here thinks you did. I was the one who dropped the poison into Joffrey's cup.

Sansa could almost feel her heart deflating, Garlan Tyrell, was the only Tyrell that she could have trusted, and looking back, The Tyrells had used that when they chose where their family would sit during Joffrey's wedding.

"Forgive me if can, Lady Sansa, but I am the reason that Cersei wanted to kill you, and the reason that you are held by another unnatural man."

"Lord Baelish has been very kind to me, I am no prisoner here."

The stern expression on his face, made her uncomfortable and she could not explain why.

"I have seen how he looks at you Lady Stark, and you must soon choose whom you call father, Baelish or Stark."

He walked away slowly, a man whose conflict of his own heart was tearing him apart, towards his waiting steed.

In the distance, at the main gate of Harrenhal, the warhorns blew. With them, a vast host poured out of the ruined citadel, and turned to the West.

**Happy New Year's**

**next up: Samwell, Arianne, and Jon**


End file.
